


Hunted

by Vixen7777



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Bigotry & Prejudice, Bondage, Dominance, Drama & Romance, Dubious Consent, F/M, Humiliation, Obsession, Oral Sex, POV Hermione Granger, POV Scabior, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut, Torture, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2020-05-15 08:59:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 166,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19292503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vixen7777/pseuds/Vixen7777
Summary: She felt it, in a shiver that ran from the top of her head, to the tip of her toes. He was looking for her…And with those searching, predatory eyes, she felt thoroughly exposed.





	1. Hunted

<https://imgur.com/NkqoylT>

New A/N: Newly edited

A/N: Hi there. I'm new to Ao3 but it was recommended to me by some of my fic readers on another site. I thought I'd try and get over my self-doubt and post here. This fic is already way into its 32nd chapter so you have lots more to come. Please let me know what you think. Kudos, dragon prints and views are great, but I love to hear from my readers.  
Please be aware that I do not have a Beta-reader for this fic.  
I hope you enjoy it!

___________________________________________________________________

 

Chapter One

**First Encounter **

 

Hermione’s heart was pounding violently inside her chest.

_Do not move. Whatever you do, do not move… and keep your breathing steady. You stupid, stupid idiot!_

Because Hermione knew why she was stuck in her current situation. She knew it was her own stupid fault. In her own, stupendously idiotic need to lure Ron’s attentions, even after so many years of numerous failed attempts-- she had worn perfume.

Hermione cursed silently, her entire body thrumming with a cold dread as she stared fearfully at the Snatcher before her.

The one staring right back, with piercing blue-grey eyes.

The Snatcher had walked past Hermione at first, following the other Snatchers. The ones carrying bodies in their arms. She could only hope that their captives were still alive because she didn’t have time to ponder. Her heart had plummeted into her stomach as the Snatcher had stopped, stock still, before turning back towards her.

For a moment Hermione had feared that the wards had fallen. That she was standing there in plain sight, alone before a hunter-- that Snatcher. But, deep down, she knew that was an unnecessary worry. No matter how much she may doubt herself, question Harry’s plans, wonder about everything she was doing and every choice that had led her to that point, she should not doubt her magic. Those protection and warding spells she had cast around them had been perfect because she’d had people to protect.

The man had walked slowly over to Hermione, his footsteps light and slow. His penetrating eyes searching the area around her before he stopped, just inches in front of her. His brown hair was wild, unkempt and tied back behind his neck. He wore a black jacket, the crimson band of material marking him as a Snatcher, barely visible in the darkness. His chin was lightly stubble, his nose straight but it was those glacial eyes that drew her gaze, blue-grey pools of ice that she couldn’t look away from.

 

Hermione held her breath instinctively, willing her racing heart to still, lest he heard it beating frantically against her ribcage. She watched as the Snatcher moved another step towards her… and another… wanted to step away from him, to retreat, but knew he’d hear her move. She wanted to close her eyes and block him out. Wanted to pretend him away but fear and panic rooted them there, wide and staring up at him as he stared straight at her.  
  
Hermione’s heart jolted in her chest. A gasp almost slipping from her tight-pressed lips as those predatory eyes met hers. Seconds seemed to last lifetimes as the rugged Snatcher stared back. She knew logically that he had to be staring right through her, to the darkness of the forest beyond… but those eyes… those inquisitive eyes were staring deeply into hers.

It was as though Hermione had fallen under a spell, captivated completely by the way those eyes were staring out at her. The hunter looking for the hunted.

Bluish-grey eyes, cautious and searching but never moving from hers. The Snatcher’s eyes were clear and almost bright in the darkness of the forest. Those glacial depths had frozen her in place, and Hermione felt the cold from them as his eyes bore into hers. She felt awash in cold water as a chill of terror ran down her spine.

The Snatcher’s eyes were penetrating her, searching Hermione’s very soul. She felt it, in a shiver that ran from the top of her head, to the tip of her toes. He was looking for her… And with those searching, predatory eyes, she felt thoroughly exposed.  
  
The Snatcher was calculating, his mind ticking over as he stood there, combing the area with his paralyzing gaze. He was waiting for some sign that Hermione was there, standing just beyond the magical barrier she had so thankfully erected. She saw it, the way his mind turned each thought over, waiting…

FLUMP!

Suddenly the Snatcher blinked, and that spell that had held Hermione there, completely enraptured, was broken. He turned, leaving her free to let go of that breath, the one she’d held for far too long. She was dizzy now. Lightheaded and dizzy with relief when he walked away, addressing one of the Snatchers who appeared to be so obviously in his command. The one that had dropped the motionless body he’d been carrying.

“What’re doin’?” The Snatcher with the sharp icy eyes questioned.

“It’s ‘eavy.” The other Snatcher replied in complaint.

“Oh sorry, d’yer want me to carry it?” The Snatcher in charge asked sarcastically before rebuking his subordinate.

The disagreement gave Hermione a moment to catch her breath, to bring her hand to her chest, the fast pulse of her heartbeat pulsing through her fingers. Adrenaline was still coursing through her, her body poised and ready to run, but now that she wasn’t staring up into the Snatcher’s eyes, she felt like she could breathe again.  

After a few disgruntled minutes, the other Snatcher picked up the body he had dropped to the floor, still grumbling to himself as he did so. The Snatcher that had picked up the scent of Hermione’s perfume and stared her out, making her feel vulnerable beneath his gaze, lead the way out of the clearing. It was abundantly clear that he was in charge, and no one seemed about to question it.

Hermione waited, letting the minutes drag on as she stood there. She couldn’t move. Her feet were still frozen to that spot as the Snatchers walked on, without one backwards glance. Her whole body was thrumming with fear, exhilaration and now a flood of relief.

That had been close. Far to close.

Bringing her hand up to her neck, Hermione scrubbed at her neck. Very slowly she began to back up, her feet finally listening to her. Each step she took caused the crunching of leaves, the snapping of twigs and those sounds seemed to reverberate in the relative silence around her.

Something about the way that Snatcher had looked at her made her shiver, made her feel like she was still being watched. She turned, hurrying back to the camp, back to Ron, back to Harry. Because something about those eyes haunted her. Even though the Snatcher was gone, she saw them, burnt into the back of her head, reminding her just how real the danger now was.

The look in those eyes told her one clear thing…

Hermione was being hunted.

 


	2. Haunted

A/N new: I hope you like the edits I’ve made. Please let me know by reviewing. Thanks x

A/N Original: Chaptaaar twooooo! I have no doubt I'll write some more tonight once i've had some sleep this afternoon. Too much going on in my Potter-riddled brain. And I have a plot to work out with this one :P And lots-more-smut! :D  
  
As always, please let me know what you think? Thanks guys. :)  
  
___________________________________________________________________________  
  
  
Chapter Two

 **Haunted**  
  
  
When Hermione returned to the tent, she had been rebuked by Harry, warning her not to wear perfume next time. As if she needed telling, and as if there would ever be a next time!

What had she been _thinking_? Wearing perfume in the middle of a forest, just to catch Ron’s attention. The sneering voice of Voldemort’s horcrux mocked her for it whenever she wore the locket. His icy, hissing laughter tore into her, feeling like needles on her skin.

_So close. So close to capturing Potter’s Mudblood._

The voice was heavy with hatred and dripping with disdain. It reminded her of who she was far too often. Told her what it thought of her… of her Muggle heritage. That’s when it wasn’t smooth and tantalising. Trying to tempt her. She ignored it. Often lay at night with her hands bunched around her ears, trying to drown it out.

_He came so close to finding you…_

However much that Snatcher had frightened her, as the weeks went on and the animosity between the three of them rose, Hermione found herself questioning if being captured by Snatcher would have been better.  
  
Ron and Harry were fighting again.  
  
They fought and bickered so often lately and it was all she could do to try and stop them tearing each other apart. Perhaps it would have been better if she had been taken, because she saw Ron advancing on Harry all too angrily and without thinking she cast a spell.  
  
“Protego.”  
  
All of them were forced back by the strength of the spell, her and Harry on one side of the shield, Ron on the other. She didn’t miss the look of betrayal in Ron’s blue eyes. Why had she done that? And why wasn’t he listening?  
  
Why hadn’t she made a noise? Saved herself from this by making a noise all those weeks ago.  
  
Because Ron was walking out of the tent. He wasn’t listening to a word she was saying. No. Shrieking. She was calling after him, the rain thundering down on her, but she barely noticed.  
  
“RON!”  
  
With her final sob, a crack sounded over the noise of the rain, telling her that somewhere in the darkness, Ron had apparated.  
  
It was only then that she realised that her cheeks were wet, and not from the rain.

_Ron_

Her heart constricted in her chest. He was gone and she had no way of following him. She _couldn’t_ follow him, because staying with Harry was more important. Hunting and destroying horcruxes was so much more important… wasn’t it?  
  
That was when she had gone back inside the tent. Told Harry he was gone and sat down to cry.  
  
She had almost been caught, all those weeks ago, and all because she was wearing perfume for him. For the red-haired stranger, who had just ignored her cries. For Ronald Weasley, who had heard them, and still abandoned her.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
Hermione had tied her pink scarf around a tree before she and Harry left the camp.  
  
She tried to put off their departure for as long as possible, but Harry was not so reluctant. Deep down she knew he was right. It wasn’t safe for them to stay so long in one place. But she still held out hope. She told herself repeatedly that Ronald Weasley would return. He had to…. Didn’t he?

They needed to keep moving, to keep searching. They needed to work out where to go next.  
Upon apparating to their new destination, however, Hermione fell to her knees. Despite the usual feeling of having the wind swept from her, she felt empty. Ron had really left them. He had left her.  
  
No matter what doubts she’d ever had concerning his feelings for her; she had always firmly believed that he would never abandon her. Not like that. The fact that they were now away from him, completely apart, with no way for him to find them, well, she didn’t know how to feel… other than empty.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
After the incident at Godric’s Hollow, Hermione was even more careful with how diligently she protected Harry. In all the commotion, his wand had snapped in half. She was now the only thing standing between the rest of the world and the Boy-Who-Lived. Merlin, did she feel the weight of it. She couldn’t bear the idea of anything happening to him, so she gave him her wand, making him keep a hold of it as much as possible.  
  
It was like she’d lost a limb.  
  
Without her wand and without Ron, Hermione felt more vulnerable than ever but it was worse at night, when she lay asleep in her bunk.  
  
Amidst her usual nightmares, the ones where white masks shone back at her in the darkness, a new fear arose. Amongst the screams, the fright, the nose-less face of what Hermione knew to be Lord Voldemort- was those eyes. Those hunting, piercing, predatory eyes.  
  
They hunted her out. They had her running in the darkness from all those other fears. Fears that should have been far greater to her but weren’t. They made her feel vulnerable, isolated… _Naked_ somehow.  
  
So when Ron returned a few nights later, despite her anger, she silently welcomed his return. With him he’d brought a spare wand, which meant that Hermione’s was returned to her. With her wand back in her hand and Ron back at her side she had naively thought that maybe the nightmares would end.  
  
But they didn’t.  
  
They only gave her more reason to fear being alone after dark. They made her jump at every noise, turn at every passing shadow. That man was out there somewhere, the one with piercing eyes that unknowingly seemed to search her soul, and all he seemed to have drawn from her was fear.  
The fear that she would once again be found, alone in the forest.

In fact, the whole incident had driven home the fact of how thoroughly, ridiculously dangerous it was for her to be a female, alone in the woods.  
  
But she wasn’t alone now right? She had never _really_ been alone. Not with Harry there, and now Ron. It would be okay… right?  
  
But no matter how much she tried to convince herself after every one of those dreams, it was never enough to still her frantically beating heart.  
  
* * * *  
  
  
It was early. Too early and still too dark outside.  
  
The previous night had been a pleasant one. Harry, Ron and she had sat around, laughing about old times as Ron reported back on the whereabouts and safety of the Order. They had also been heartened to hear about a new radio programme- Potter Watch.  
  
Hermione’s mood had brightened after three nights of restful sleep with no nightmares. Perhaps that was the stupid reason she decided to venture outside in the early morn?  
  
Still clad in light-grey pyjama bottoms and a long-sleeved, baby-blue top, Hermione had wandered outside. She stretched, her top rising and showing a vast expanse of her flat, toned belly. Her pyjama bottoms hung low on her hips as she shivered in the cold, wrapping herself back up in her blanket.  
She held the woollen blanket around her as she tried to tame her sleep-tussled hair back into place. The sun had risen but it was still dimly grey and silent. A fog hung about the trees, but oddly it made her feel safer. Like they would be harder to see, even if her barriers were broken.  
  
She yawned and made her way down the leaf-strewn slope towards the lake. She would settle down there as she woke properly and take in the morning scenery. She should work out where they needed to go next, before the boys woke. She wanted to give them time to sleep. Time to rest. Especially Harry.  
  
Her fleece-lined boots warmed her cold feet as she moved past the trees and slipped slightly on the damp leaves. Soon enough she was at the small, frozen lake, drowsy but appreciating the beauty of the foggy dawn. She walked carefully over to the lake, seeing that vast expanse of the ice had cracked around the edges. She crouched down and cupped the freezing cold water in her hands, before splashing it on her face. It was so refreshing as it ran down her neck that she almost didn’t notice the noise in the tree behind her.  
  
A bird took flight suddenly from a nearby tree, making her look up, following its flight. She wrapped the blanket around her tighter, rising slowly to her full height. She stood, silent and still as she peered around, waiting for some sign that she was not alone.  
  
However, she received none. No more birds took hurried flights. No woodland creatures foraged. Only the fog remained with her, impeding her view. She decided to get back to the tent. This just wasn’t the nice, idyllic idea that she had first thought.  
  
She turned, stepping carefully, heading back the way she came. She focused on the ground in front of her, careful not to slip on the leaves again. It was as she approached the tree the bird had taken flight from, however, that a noise made her look up.  
  
_**Thud.**_

 _No._  
  
There, before her, having just jumped gracefully from the tree, was her Snatcher.

 _Oh no. Not him._  
  
Yes. Her Snatcher. Because those piercing eyes were real this time and the man before her was smirking. Her heart pounded. She’d made _another_ foolish mistake… and they all seemed to happen around this man.

“’Ello Beautiful.”  
  
His smooth voice made her heart still. His dark-rimmed eyes looked her up and down, before his smirk widened.  
  
_Oh Merlin.  
_  
This couldn’t be happening. This had to be a nightmare. This couldn’t be possible. She’d put up the wards! But then she remembered that Ron had volunteered to do that job. Ron had circled the camp, tired after several nights on guard, trying to make his disappearance up to her. He’d obviously not ventured this far away from the tent.

 _Oh Ron. Oh Merlin, help me._  
  
Hermione stepped back, holding the blanket tightly around her trembling form. The Snatcher before her was approaching slowly, stalking towards her lazily. His hair was shaggy, brown and wild- long and tangled with a red streak through it. He was clad in black boots, dark plaid trousers and a dark studded belt. To accompany them he wore a black duster jacket with what looked like a brown waistcoat beneath it. Her eyes caught a flash of red on his arm. The armband that all the Snatchers seemed to wear.   
  
His general appearance was shabby- what she expected from someone who appeared to trample through the forest all day. He probably slept there as well for all she knew. But despite the dirt, the shabbiness and the fear that he was inducing in her, those eyes looked far too clean in contrast.  
  
Hermione tried to move her arm beneath the blanket, reaching for her wand, which  thankfully lay at the waistband of her pyjama bottoms.   
  
“Ah-Ah!” The Snatcher wagged his finger once, humour evident in his eyes as he watched her. His wand had been in his other hand the whole time, and with barely a flick and a mutter, she felt her wand slip from her waistband before it flew into his hand.  
  
She wanted to scream. Wanted to call for Ron, call for Harry. Call for anyone that might help her.  
  
_Then they’d be in danger too._

Hermione swallowed. She couldn’t scream for them. What if this Snatcher wasn’t alone? If the boys came running to her aid and broke the boundaries of Ron’s wards, then they’d be in as much danger as she was. If she cried out for them, if this man found them, it would be her fault.  
  
Hermione took another step back, trying to steel herself against the panic that raced inside her. She had faced far greater fears than this… so why then did he terrify her so much?  
  
“What do you want?” Hermione questioned boldly when he stopped a few feet away from her, grateful that her voice didn’t betray her true emotions.

  
“At last, she speaks!” The Snatcher jokingly exclaimed. “I was beginning to think I’d caught a mute.”  
  
“You haven’t caught me yet.” Hermione muttered as she tried to hold her ground, ignoring all her instincts telling her to run. The jolt of amusement in his eyes told him he had heard her.  
  
“Be careful girl. It’s the chase I love the best.” He waggled his eyebrows slightly, suggestively. She took a step back this time and he took another step towards her.  
  
“Imagine my surprise, as I sat, nappin’ in the branches of that tree…” He motioned at the tree behind him with his wand. “When a young lady wandered into view.”  
  
His smirk was too wide, too evident. It was freezing her blood more than the coldness of the weather around them. She stepped back again, reminding herself to stay calm, to stay quiet. She could talk her way out of this. She had to.  
  
“What do you want?” she questioned again, slightly louder. She held the blanket in her hands so tightly that they ached.  
“What do you wanna give me?” He teased, biting his tongue between his teeth as he looked at her suggestively.  
  
Hermione stared back at him coldly, growing ever more uncomfortable by the shrinking distance between the two of them.  
“Nothing.” She stated, stony faced. She glared at him. Tried to show him that she wasn’t afraid of him. Hoped the lie didn’t show on her face.   
  
“Now, now love! Don’t get all fiery eyed with me. You’re the one that’s wanderin’ in the woods, so you can’t be so surprised when you run into a wolf.”  
  
The combination of his smirk and those piercing, predatory eyes, made her quiver. She was trembling with anticipation, waiting for him to pounce, waiting for her chance to flee. Because at that moment she felt very much like she’d run into a wolf, and she seemed to be his ideal supper.  
  
Hermione could hear her breathing quicken as he closed the distance between them, so close that they were almost touching. She opened her mouth, unable to stand it any longer. She went to scream, unsure if the sound would even escape her throat. But it didn’t get the chance.  
  
The Snatcher’s hand clamped over her mouth and he forced her backwards. She stumbled back, hitting a tree after about five startled paces. Her back slammed into it and she closed her eyes tightly, wishing that when she opened them again, she’d find that this was just another nightmare.  
  
But it wasn’t.  
  
The Snatcher was really standing there, large as life and much too close for comfort. His head was tilted to the side, as he looked at her, amused.  
“You know who I am right?” He questioned. “ _What_ I am?” He added. He released the pressure on her head slightly, enough to let her answer and she did with a nod of the head. He let out a bemused chuckle.  
  
“Well then Pet, if you won’t behave for me…” He titled his head to the other side as he looked down at her suggestively. “Then p’haps you’ll behave for ol’ Greyback?”

Her heart felt like it had frozen in her chest. The cold grip of fear had it in its grasp.

“Heard of him?” He continued but he didn’t need to taunt her. Her eyes had grown wider yet at the realisation of his words and she’d begun to shake her head, panicking, her lips still pressed against his hand.  
  
His hands were rough and smelt like earth, like the forest. The smell of evergreens hung in the air around them, a gentle scent. However, the smell of wet earth on his hands was stronger.  
  
She closed her eyes again for a second. Trying to hide from the piercing eyes before her.  
  
_What did he want? What did he want?!_  
  
But that woman’s intuition inside had already answered with the quickened beating of her heart against her chest.  
  
“So you ‘ave heard of him then?” The Snatcher taunted with a smile. “You might wanna keep quiet then love, ‘cause I’m sure he’d more than happily have his merry little way with you.”

Her heart was in her throat, beating against the lump that had formed there. Not Greyback.

  
The Snatcher looked at the blanket, veiled annoyance clouding his eyes.  
  
“But his way ent exactly merry, if you get my meaning.” He sneered, still looking at the woollen blanket. It was the only thing she had for protection that still stood between her and the Snatcher. Not that it could really do much. “They never normally make it through, after he’s bitten into ‘em a few times.”  
  
Hermione got the message. Loud and clear. However, as she stared up at this predator, pinning her to the tree, she wondered if she should take her chances with the werewolf. Because this wolf? This one was making her quiver beneath his gaze.  
  
“So are you gonna behave?” He questioned, as he took his hand away from her mouth. He bowed his head slightly to look her in the eyes but she turned her head away from him, avoiding his gaze.  
She heard a small chuckle in response but let out a sudden gasp of fright as his hand suddenly tugged the blanket forcibly from her grip. Her eyes widened again, watching as the blanket landed on the floor behind his right shoulder. His smile stretched broadly across his face as his eyes shone playfully.  
  
Hermione crossed her arms instantly, looking at her wand as he placed it in his jacket pocket.  
  
_No._  
  
She could barely breathe as he raised his wand to her face. It trailed a light mark up her cold cheek as her shoulders rose, her body shaking in the cold.   
  
_Oh Merlin. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit._  
  
Her breath rose before her in a white mist as her chest rose and fell hurriedly. Her eyes stung slightly, threatening to betray her as she took in how helpless and vulnerable she was. But she steeled herself against it. She would get through this.  
  
Somehow.  
  
Hermione stared at him, tried to search his eyes for some form of clue. Anything to get her out of the situation she had found herself trapped in. His eyes were searching hers in return though, roaming her face first with the trail of his wand. He took in her lips and flushed cheeks. She was cold, holding her arms around her chest, hoping he’d dismiss her trembling as shivering. His eyes roamed down her neck and then his hand reached out to grab at her wrist.  
  
Stubbornly she fought against him, trying to keep her arms wrapped over her chest but failing against his strength. He yanked her arm away, taking in her figure before letting her wrap her other arm across her chest. The cold air had made her nipples harden, and he could see it through her top. Her face flushed and she closed her eyes again, feeling shame and embarrassment flood her body.  
  
And the whole time he was examining it.  
  
His eyes travelled down, lingering at the thin expanse of flat belly that could be seen before his eyes met her pyjama bottoms, slung low on her hips. Her top had ridden up in her struggle, her bottoms still loose from sleep. But she was still covered. She could praise that little miracle.  
  
The Snatcher’s eyes darted back to hers, and he grinned wolfishly. She struggled again.  
  
“Don’t.” A warning, surprisingly from her.  
  
He chuckled at that, still holding her thin wrist in his tight grasp as she twisted to try and pull away. He leant closer, making her heart pound harder against her chest.  
  
“ _Don’t!_ ” But that time she sounded so much more like she was pleading with him not to. She wanted to stay strong, stay determined but that last word sounded too much like a cry instead of a command.  
  
“Shhhhh.” He reached out, smoothing her hair with his hands. “You dunno what I’m gonna do yet.” He sniggered slightly. “You might enjoy it.”  
  
“No.” She tried not to let her voice get too loud but was finding it harder as he leant into her. “No, I won’t!” She froze as his body pressed against hers. Even let out an uncontrollable gasp. Their bodies pressed flush against each other, her knees weak as he leant into her neck, breathing in the scent of her hair.  
  
_Oh God._  
  
His head snapped back enough for him to look at her face. A mixture of shock and confusion were plastered across his features.  
  
“It’s you.”  
  
Two words. They were causing so much confusion amidst the panic in her head.  
“What?” She breathed, still leaning as far back into the tree as she could.  
  
“It’s you.” he said again. “That smell… It’s been driving me crazy for weeks.”  
  
It was the only explanation she received as she looked back at him, eyes wide in fear and confusion.  
before suddenly his lips crashed onto hers.  
  
In the shock of it she tried to pull her head back, only pressing it further into the rough bark of the tree she was up against. She let out a muffled cry, surprised by the sudden assault. He used this to his advantage, slipping his tongue into her mouth. His tongue caressed hers, stilling it, silencing her cry.  
  
She felt sick. She felt the fear running through her every pore. Every inch of her was thrumming, surging, like an electric current had suddenly passed through her. His lips were devouring her mouth, his tongue battling against hers as she tried to push at his chest with her free hand.  
  
She fisted her hand, beating against his chest. She twisted and struggled against him, trying to pull her wrist from his hand. He let out a small groan and suddenly his hand was on the back of her hair, his fingers in her hair.  
  
_No._  
  
_No. This wasn’t happening._ __It couldn’t be. Please no._  
  
_Please! Harry! Ron! Anyone!__  
  
Why wasn’t anyone coming across her. Why hadn’t the boys gotten their arses out of bed yet? And inside her head she was screaming at him to let her go. He had to let her go.  
  
She bit down on his tongue and he pulled back in alarm. She braced herself, fully expecting a punishment for it, but glowering at him all the same.  
“Ow.” He moaned as he pulled away, his fingers from her hair now, touching his tongue. He looked down at them, saw there was no blood and then looked back up at her.  
  
“Well that wasn’t very nice… was it?” His hand went back to her hair, yanking at a handful of it. She let out a strangled cry, before quashing it. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of hearing her pain.  
  
“Get off of me!” Her voice was torn but strong as she cried out at him, pulling at the grip on her wrist. She wriggled violently against him again and he let out a humorous chuckle.

“Now doing _that_ certainly ent gonna help your situation.”  
  
Realising what he meant she let out a strangled growl, pushing at his chest, hitting at it again. But he didn’t budge. He seemed to find it all very amusing.  
  
“Feisty one you are, ent ya?” He chuckled, stepping back to watch her thrash about. He pretended to stroke his stubbled chin with his spare hand as he watched her. “But if you like biting so much, p’haps I _should_ hand you over to Greyback after all?”  
  
“No.” She told him, unable to hide the fear in her voice. “No. Just let me go. I haven’t done anything wrong! Just let me go!”

  
“Now love, you’re wanderin’ around a dimly lit forest, in the foggy early hours of the mornin’… alone. I’d say there’s sommat wrong with that picture. Don’t you think?”  
  
The suggestion that she wasn’t alone nearly slipped through her lips. So nearly she had to bite her tongue.  
  
“So you thought you’d just come and take advantage of the situation, did you?” She snapped at him angrily. Because she’d had enough. She needed to get away from him. Get back to the tent and as far away from him as possible.  
  
“Naturally.” When he smiled at her in reply, she supposed some women might class it as cheeky, charming. Maybe dashing even. But in this situation, with her in his sights, it was only terrifying to her.  
“B’sides, how can I help myself when you look..." His eyes travelled down her making her insides squirm.

He leant in close to her hair as he sniffed her riotous curls "Smell…” She could feel his breath on her ear as he spoke, his voice smooth and whispering.

She swallowed; her mouth suddenly dry. She wanted to curl in on herself and hide.   
  
Suddenly her head was forced back against the tree again as his lips crashed against hers. He planted one firm kiss on her lips before he pulled away, chuckling slightly.  
  
“And _taste,_ so delicious.” He smiled at her, cocking his head to the side and bowing it to look at her as she stared back, appalled. “A man can hardly be blamed for his actions.” He continued.  
  
“A man can _always_ be blamed for his actions.” She growled back coldly. His smile fell from his face.  
  
“Ahh, don’t go all borin’ on me _now_ love.” He teased her, stepping in against her again. “Not when we’re getting to the good part.”  
  
As he grinned wolfishly at her, his free hand came up. His hand cupped her cheek at first, before sliding down her neck. She turned her head away.

Hermione was determinedly trying to pretend that she was anywhere else but there. Trying to ignore the way she felt his gaze on her skin.

His hand continued travelling down, his rough fingers gliding over her collarbone.  

_Think of Harry. Think of Ron. Don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction._

The Snatcher’s rough fingers continued their journey down. They brushed down her chest and across her breast.  
  
Hermione’s breath hitched, and she closed her eyes, burying her head against her shoulder as much as possible. His hand cupped the side of her breast, still, just holding it there. But his thumb finished its journey, sliding down and flicking across her peaked nipple.  
  
Despite biting her lip, she still couldn’t prevent the whimper escaping them.  
  
She knew he’d heard it. She could tell because she felt his eyes move back up to her face again, despite her eyes being closed. She felt sick. Sick, because despite how very, utterly and sickeningly wrong it was, her body was responding to his touch.  
  
Her own body was betraying her. Responding to that predatory glare; the hunger and the want.  
  
This could not be happening.

Her eyes watered with anger and before she could stop herself, before she could think it through, she swung for him. Her one free hand swung and hit him hard across the face. Why hadn’t she just done it before?   
  
But instead of finding herself freed by his grip, she found it only tightened as he cradled his face. He groaned loudly, swearing, holding his hand over his nose before he turned back to her. She saw the anger in his eyes and trembled, pressing herself so hard against the tree that she hoped she’d fall inside the trunk.  
  
An audible growl left his throat before he swung his own arm, turning away from the tree as his hand let go of her wrist at the end of the swing. She fell forwards with the force of it, slamming against wet leaves and damp earth.  
  
She called out. Couldn’t help it this time as she tried to scramble up and clamber forwards to her feet. But he was on her in seconds. His tight grip slammed down on her upper arms, turning her, forcing her onto her back. She kicked out at him, trying to scramble backwards still, even whilst being held in his grip.  
  
“Ahhh! Don’t!” she cried out. But she wasn’t thinking about how loud she was being anymore. She thought only about self-preservation. This snatcher was pressing her into the forest floor, scrambling to get on top of her.  
  
Her hips hit his as she struggled, desperate to get away.  
“I was tryin’ to be nice.” He spoke through gritted teeth, holding her in a bruising grip on her upper arms. He shook her. “If you wanted a monster, I could have turned you over to Greyback. I just wanted a bit of fun…” He growled as he fought to hold her down. I wouldn’t have hurt you… you would’ve enjoyed it.”  
  
“Please! Please don’t do this!” Hermione shrieked; her voice muffled at the end of her cry as the front of his waistcoat fell against her mouth. She turned her head, tasting the leather on her tongue.  
  
“If you don’t shut up, Greyback will be the one you’re answerin’ to.” He warned her, still fighting against her struggles and despite all her will power she felt herself crumple. Tears leaked out the corners of her eyes as she pressed and pushed against him, trying to scramble back, her boots slipping on wet leaves.  
  
“Fine! Fine! I’ll answer to him! But please! Please don’t do this!”  
  
She hated herself.  
  
She hated how weak she was in that moment.  
  
She hated that she was begging him. That she was asking for one monster over another. But at least with Greyback her body wouldn’t respond. She could guarantee that. There was something so terrifying about the fact that her body had reacted, responded to this Snatcher’s touch. It both terrified her… and made her hate herself.  
  
The body above her froze.

Her eyes slowly opened, realising she’d closed them tight. To block him out. To hide herself away in the darkness. Her eyes sought his, silently questioning his reaction.   
  
The man on his hands and knees above her, her legs trapped between his, had frozen. He was staring at her. That piercing look again, but this time different. Complete bewilderment and confusion blazed beneath those eyes. She didn’t understand... and apparently neither did he. He just stared at her, shocked and confused but still in control… always in control.  
  
He was the predator, she was the prey. He the hunter. She the hunted.

As she stared up, with wide, wet eyes at him, she thought she saw realisation blossom beneath his skin. The confusion, the alarm at what she’d said was suddenly gone. Hidden by a mask, his face blank.

Was that anger blazing in those clear, cold eyes? Was he about to turn her over to the infamous werewolf?   
  
His face was too guarded for her to work it out, this sudden quiet that had befallen him. He was inches away, breathing her in as the scent of him filled her nostrils. His grip on her wrists almost bruising her skin. However, she was sure she saw something flicker through his eyes. Unsure what… just… _something._ But before she could ponder it, suddenly he moved.

So abruptly he had stood, straightened his jacket and stepped away.  
  
She lay there, sprawled on her back; damp, muddy and dishevelled, looking up at him in fear. He looked back, silently. His entire attitude had changed completely. It was evident that this wasn’t his idea of fun anymore.  
  
He took one last look at her, lying on the floor, tears wet on her face as she looked up questioningly at him, and then he turned. He shrugged his jacket straight again and began to walk away. Without so much as a backwards glance, as he reached the small, leaf-strewn slope she had slipped down, he threw her wand over his shoulder.  
  
Hermione lay there silently, shivering for several minutes.  
  
_What had just happened?_  
  
Because she was still shaking from it. Still breathing hard from it. Still dreading that he would return.

_Get up. Get up Hermione, get up!_

She heard that voice screaming inside her head. Knew she had to listen but was frozen in fear. Questions were whirling inside her head.

_Was he alone? Was he gone?_

And- no matter how thankful she was, how grateful…

 _Why had he stopped?  
_  
She scrambled round on all fours before she managed to get herself to her feet, half slipping, half running to her wand. She grabbed it, sinking down into a small, crouched ball as she grasped her wand tightly. She let the tears slide down her face but forbade herself from sobbing loudly. A small and petty part of her didn’t want to give him the satisfaction if she was still nearby.

 _Go and get Harry. Get Ron._  
  
She wanted to move, to listen to that voice inside her head. Wanted to pull herself to her feet and run back to the tent. But she was trembling so violently, so scared and still processing what had happened.

She shivered in the cold, curled in a ball for maybe half in her post-traumatic state before she heard voices.  
  
Her heart pounded in her chest again, terrified he had returned, but this time with Greyback like he had threatened. As the footsteps approached she waited, crouched in the wet leaves, grasping her wand in both hands.  
  
Suddenly the owners of the voices came into view at the top of the slope and Hermione brandished her wand at them.  
  
Panic struck her again at the last second, preventing her from firing her wand. But she still held it there for a further few moments.  
  
“Mione?” Ron questioned dimly as he and Harry stood, frozen in place, eyes on her wand. “You alright?”  
  
His sleep-addled voice called out to her and just hearing his voice was enough. She snapped out of it.  
  
“Y-yeah.” She murmured. “Yeah, I- I fell d-down… that’s all.”  
  


 

A/N: Please let me know what you think. Views, Kudos and Dragon prints are all greatly appreciated, but nothing beats a review from a reader letting me know what they think.


	3. Captured

A/N: Please let me know how you’re liking the edits. Please let me know if the switches from POV are okay. I did save the originals so I can always change it back. Thanks yous to Skye for being my Beta-reader  
Peace and love. x

A/N: Special thanks to LauraLashton (http://laurelashton.tumblr.com/post/2736556405) and Masquedbunny (http://masquedbunny.tumblr.com/) and just so that you know, this is my new tumblr: http://gryffindorgirl7777.tumblr.com/  
  
  
Chapter Three  
  
**Captured**

  
  
Scabior had been sitting high amongst the branches of a strong and sturdy tree. Sitting up in the trees was a great place to sit and think. He could look out at the forest around him, spot its inhabitants with ease.  
  
He had been slouched on a thick branch, his back against the trunk as he drowsily considered his job. He needed a catch. As much as he loved his job- having been prepared for it for most of his life- the pay wasn’t guaranteed. If he didn’t find another Mudblood soon, he was going to go hungry for the next month.  
  
Something else was bothering him.  
  
There had been a distinct lack of women wandering around recently.  
  
The Mudbloods, blood traitors and Squibs he caught were always far too keen to exchange sex or money for their freedom. But recently it had only been men. Not the energetic witches he’d caught for months at the beginning. They had been all too eager to please him in exchange for their release… and it meant he got his too.  
  
He wasn’t like some of the other Snatchers. He wanted them to want it too, and usually they did. Back home even the under-age witches had thrown themselves to his attentions. Since he came of age a large percentage of women had flocked to him, finding something attractive within his cheeky and mischievous personality. Mostly, around him, women just wanted to have fun.  
  
And he wasn’t about to complain.  
  
It was as he considered his last pay-cheque and how many days he’d have to make do without food if a Mudblood didn’t show, that a rustling below him made him open his eyes.  
He held onto the branch above him, leaning to look down and around the snow covered leaves, to see someone clambering noisily through the undergrowth. He almost chuckled, the person was making so much noise.  
  
He watched as they slipped slightly, the blanket falling back slightly, revealing long hair and a shapely figure.  
  
A woman. She looked to be of age as well.  
  
Perfect.  
  
So he had waited. Watched from the safety and unseen hiding place he had chosen just for this sort of reason. He climbed down slowly, keeping his eyes on her as much as possible. He was wild, a perfect creature of the forest and his body moved fluidly. He had been playing in forests since he could walk. He’d always returned home with broken limbs, covered in cuts and mud from climbing trees and falling down holes.  
  
Yes, he had been born to be a Snatcher. To live hunting.  
  
His prey looked delectable as she crouched down and splashed cold water across her face and neck. He watched, entranced as the beads of water slipped under her collar. It had been a long time- the hitch of his groin reminded him.  
  
As he settled on the lower branch, letting go of the one above, it sprang up, almost hitting a bird and making it take flight. He usually didn’t make mistakes like that.  
  
He turned, eyes on the girl through the leaves. He had a good view of her now as she looked around with wide and searching eyes. Yes, she was looked to be of age. He stayed back, hidden in the shadows, protected by the mass of snow-covered leaves and branches. He looked at her, into those wide, panicked eyes and licked his lips.  
  
Merlin, he loved the thrill of hunting. It was especially more fun when it was women. When he could hunt them, chase them, charm them… fuck them. This one looked particularly delicious. Almost as wild as him. Her curly, brown hair was tussled. Bed head hair that made him want to tangle his hands in it.  
  
Yes, this one was his.  
  
He saw how startled she was as she moved to hurry back in the direction of which she’d come. What the girl was doing in the middle of the forest on her own was beyond him. But at that moment all he cared, was that she was his. She had appeared at just the right moment, like fate had granted her to him.  
  
He smiled darkly. He was going to enjoy this. And he did. He enjoyed the shock on her face and the fear in those dark, beguiling eyes of hers as he jumped from his hiding spot. Enjoyed it when he approached her, slowly, teasingly. They were always scared at first, unsure and afraid of where he’d take her, or to who. That was normal. But then he’d approach them, coerce them, whisper sweet things in their ears. Sometimes he didn’t even need to make suggestions. Mostly they just caught on.

Money or sex for freedom. It was usually that simple. Oh how he hoped that she’d choose sex.  
  
But this one was different. She didn’t seem to realise what this encounter was all about. With this one he was going to have to tease it out of her, coerce her into giving him what he wanted. With her, he really didn’t mind taking his time.  
  
He ripped the blanket from her; saw the shape of her figure beneath her night clothes.  
  
No. He didn’t mind at all.  
  
He chuckled as she crossed her arms but didn’t miss the reason why. Her nipples were puckered against the cotton of her night shirt. Her breath was rising in a mist before them, quick and panicky. Like a frightened rabbit cornered by a fox. He smiled.  
  
He ran his wand down the side of her face, taking her in. She really was beautiful, delicate… delicious. He couldn’t wait to devour her. He took in her ripe, rosy lips, her flushed cheeks. Her skin was pale from the cold, but it was creamy and smooth. His eyes travelled down that expanse of neck, wanting to bite down on it.

But he would wait. He would work her up, tease her. It was no fun if they didn’t participate. If they didn’t want it back. He’ d seen enough Snatchers doing that, enough Death Eaters doing it. It just didn’t look as fun as having a willing woman beneath him, before him, on her knees, on her back, on her front. No. He would work this one up to it. No matter how reluctant she seemed, he knew she’d want it soon enough. They always did.  
  
A threat of Greyback here and there, who would any normal person choose?  
  
She fought him as he pulled her arm away from her chest. She was a feisty one, this one.  
  
“Don’t!” She repeated, sounding scared, pleading him.  
  
“Shhhhh.” He reached out, smoothing her hair with his hands. “You dunno what I’m gonna do yet.” He chuckled a little. “You might enjoy it.”  
  
That was the point they usually understood. As he reassured her, he fully expected her to accept his attentions, his silent proposal. But to his surprise she called out.  
  
“No.”

  
_No?_

  
“No, I won’t!” The girl cried out but froze as his body pressed against hers. His smile broadened, not missing her gasp. That was better. He pressed his body flush against hers and felt her knees buckle slightly as he leant into her hair. That was better.  
  
He inhaled, deeply.  
  
_What?!_  
  
He pulled back immediately, staring at her, searching her eyes. It was her. That smell! It had been haunting him. He had caught the scent weeks ago; had been sure something was there in the forest. He had been sure he had smelt something.  
  
Something floral and sweet and something he would contribute to the idea of innocence. Pureness. She smelt pure… with a hint of vanilla.  
  
“It’s you.” The words slipped out smoothly, as he found the idea of taking her uncontrollable. He was hungry for her, starving almost. He was desperate to take her, to have her. She was his. He had caught her; he had smelt her all those weeks ago. He was meant to have her.

  
“It’s you.” he said again, his voice sounding a little rougher this time. “That smell… It’s been driving me crazy for weeks.”  
  
He barely took in the panic and confusion in her eyes. It was all too delicious. Too mouth-watering.  
  
His lips crashed onto hers. Her cry made it even more delightful as he slipped his tongue into her mouth. And she tasted like everything he thought she would. Innocent, sweet, like honey. Merlin. She was so sweet. She tasted like pureness mixed with sugar. Fuck.  
  
He couldn’t help himself. He ignored the fists at his chest. She wasn’t hurting him. She struggled against him, making his arousal worse. He couldn’t help the groan that escaped his throat only to be captured by her mouth. Merlin. She tasted so good. Made him want more. His hand reached up, tangling in her wild, tussled hair.  
  
When she bit him, his head reeled back in surprise. It was the first time anyone had done that aiming to hurt him. It intrigued him. This one was wild, feisty; unable to give in to her own desires. It must have been all that pureness clogging up her veins.  
  
Another threat of taking her to the werewolf. But he never had any intention of that. He wanted her. He wanted her to himself.  
  
He teased her, taunted her, the whole time trying to get her to submit to him. Her breath hitched when his slid his hand down her chest, his thumb flicking across her nipple. He knew it. He knew she wanted it. Whether she knew it or not, her body did.  
  
But then she completely caught him by surprise. She didn’t hit him that hard, but caught the edge of his nose, painful enough to make him groan and swear. He kept his grip on her, fuming. He hadn’t hurt her the whole time he’d had her in his grasp. But he could have done! He could have handed her over to Greyback, to the other Snatchers who weren’t as polite, and devilishly charming as he was.

Maybe it was because he was starving, hadn’t eaten for a couple of days? Or maybe he just let his temper get the better of him?  
  
He climbed over her, turning her over to shout at her. How dare she hit him! How dare she! No woman had ever done that after he’d shown her his attentions. What made her think that she was so special? Didn’t she know who he was or what he did? None of the women he’d taken had ever hit out at him like this before. It just didn’t happen!  
  
“I was trying to be nice.” He growled through his teeth. He had to hold her in a bruising grip to keep her from getting away. He shook her. “If you wanted a monster, I could have turned you over to Greyback. I just wanted a bit of fun…” He struggled to hold her in place. “I wouldn’t have hurt you… you would have enjoyed it.”  
  
It was true. That was his only intention. To have some fun with her, she’d have enjoyed it too- he’d have made sure of that. Especially this one. But now? Now he didn’t know. Mostly he just wanted to shout at her for hitting him.  
  
“If you don’t shut up, Greyback will be the one you’re answerin’ to.” He warned her. Because if she didn’t shut up someone was bound to hear her, and he really didn’t want that monster getting his hands on this one.  
  
But then it happened.  
  
“Fine! Fine! I’ll answer to him! But please! Please don’t do this!”  
  
Her cry, her sob struck him, hard.  
He froze, staring down at her in shock and confusion.  
  
_What had she just said? She would rather answer to Greyback than have some fun with him? What? What was with this girl?!_  
  
But then he saw the tears, realised she was shaking, and not from anticipation. She was afraid of him. That was when he realised what she was thinking. She thought he was going to rape her.  
  
Shit.  
  
A mask of indifference fell upon his face. He stepped away from her hurriedly, straightening his jacket. Normally the women were so consensual. He’d never had one refuse him before. Never had a woman fear him like she appeared to be doing.  
  
Shit.  
  
He felt quite sick all of a sudden, because he just wasn’t like that.

 _Not like them._  
  
He looked down at the delicious girl, full of the scent of pureness. Tears, wet on her face as she looked fearfully up at him.  
  
He tore himself away. Walked away from her and kept walking, dropping her wand behind him. No matter what he was, how much of a monster he may be. There were some things he just didn’t do.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Hermione was grateful when neither Harry nor Ron questioned her lie. She picked up her sodden blanket and took Ron’s hand as he helped her up the slope. But as he pulled her in, moving to put his arm around her, she pulled away.  
  
It was all too much. Her skin was crawling. The Snatcher’s scent was still around her, that smell of earth, of the forest.  
  
She pulled away from Ron, wrapping her arms around herself.  
“Mione?” Ron began to question, but then she snapped out of it.  
“S-Sorry Ron. Sorry Harry, b-but we must go. We have to move the camp.” She managed to stammer, looking about, in the shadows of the trees. The fog didn’t seem so safe, so protective any more. She felt as though the Snatcher and his friends would burst through it at any moment.  
  
“What?” Harry began.  
“I-I think I saw someone.” She lied. Because she most definitely _had_ seen someone, up close and far too personal. “I’m sorry, but I think they saw me.” She explained, spinning to face both the boys.  
  
For a second their mouths hung open, processing her words, before they hurried to pack up the camp. Hermione swore to herself, as she shrunk everything into her bag. She ignored the boy’s questions.

Mostly Ron wanted to know who she thought she had seen. Was it Deatheaters or Snatchers? Could it be others also on the run? Could it be the mysterious somebody that had sent the silver doe? Was she sure it wasn’t just a shadow in the fog?

“Mione, are you sure you’re alright?” Harry asked again when she flinched at his proximity. Harry had always been able to tell when she was lying.

  
Was she alright? _Was she?_ No. No of course she wasn’t!

It took a great effort for her to nod and smile at Harry, trying to hide that she was still shaking.  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Hermione’s heart was still beating all too quickly, trying to calm itself after their hurried escape from Xenophilius Lovegood’s house. She was pacing behind them, urgently erecting protection barriers.  
  
“Protego totalum. Salvio hexia.”  
  
But the boys were walking off.  
  
“That treacherous old bleeder!” Ron panted, as he stormed ahead of them.  
“You can hardly blame him Ron.” Harry interjected.  
  
She turned, sure that the sound of a twig snapping had sounded from behind her. But the boys were stomping ahead, the forest floor crunching loudly beneath their feet.  
  
“They’ve kidnapped Luna because her father supported Harry.” Hermione explained, cutting in now, but Ron was still storming ahead.  
  
She turned again, unable to shake the uneasy feeling that had fallen on her since their apparition from the ‘Treacherous Old Bleeder’s.’  
  
Something wasn’t right.  
  
Hermione had been following him expectantly, awaiting another comment about the Lovegood’s… but then she heard Ron still.  
  
Hermione froze on the spot. Her heart rose from the pit of her stomach, to the top of her throat. Her eyes widened slightly as they fell on the man, standing metres away from her.  
  
There, leaning languidly against a tree, eyes piercing hers- was her Snatcher. The one that had haunted her dreams for weeks. No. Not her dreams. Her nightmares. The one who’s touch still crept beneath her skin, reminding her repeatedly of what had almost happened.

  
Scabior smiled as she clambered after the redhead, eyes down on the ground at first before they looked up and rested on his. That look, that look was just as delicious as he remembered. That frightened shimmer in her eyes as she took him in, fear thrumming through her body. He could practically taste it. Practically taster _her_ already.  


His dark-rimmed eyes took her in lazily, toying with something that lay at his neck. But she could look nowhere else but those eyes for that terrifying moment. She couldn’t even tear them away to silently question Harry and Ron.  
  
“Hello beautiful.”  
  
His voice broke the silence, her heart pounding inside her chest. It was as though no one else existed, like there was no one else in that forest but them. He was staring at her with those hungry eyes. The eyes that told her, he was looking forward to the chase.  
  
He couldn’t wait for her to run. To be able to chase her down.  
  
_Run._  
  
The voice in the back of her head scolded her.  
  
_Run!_  
  
But Hermione’s feet felt like lead. Her eyes wouldn’t tear themselves away. The figure from her nightmares was there, real and more than eager to hunt her down.  
  
He couldn’t wait to catch her, to see that fear in her eyes up close, smell that scent in her hair once again… and taste her. Merlin, he still wanted to taste her damnit.  
  
_Run! Think of Harry! Think of Ron!_  
  
_RUN!_  
  
And finally her feet obeyed her, a step backwards at first before she tore herself away, pelting after Ron. Eternally grateful that he had acquired a wand for Harry.  
  
His eyes followed her, and he smiled as he watched her go. He was giving her a head start, because this was his favourite game. He loved to chase them down and he was more than eager to hand her over for what she had thought of him the last time they’d met. He was eager to get the sack full of galleons a beauty like her would fetch. It would serve her right. It would serve her right for denying him. Because if she hadn’t then he’d have let her go… possibly.  
  
Because he had to confess as he pelted after her, she had been haunting his dreams of late. He imagined that he could smell her in the air around him. Her scent seemed stuck to him, distracting him. He saw that fire in her eyes when he closed his eyes and he found himself hoping to come across her again. And thank Salazar that he had.  
  
He only wished that maybe they’d had the opportunity to be alone again.  
  
Damn it.  
  
_Stick to the plan Scabior. You need this money. You saw the look she gave you. A mix of fear and disgust. Just use her for the money and be done with her._  
  
He scolded himself, and a scolding was what he needed. Because he had followed her scent when he had last come across it and the disappointment he felt to find that it was just her scarf, had struck him by surprise.  
  
He was lusting after her. After his pay-cheque. That girl was easily worth galleons and he was lusting after her. He just had no idea why.  
  
They tore into the forest, jumping, stumbling and running so that their legs burned. She fired back at the Snatchers behind them, tried to hinder them. But there were more of them, and so few of her.  
  
She ran, legs moving until they screamed from the effort of it. Her eyes caught a flash of plaid from between the trees and her heart pounded faster against her burning ribcage.  
  
_Run. Don_ _’_ _t let him catch you!_  
  
She was so terrified of what would happen if she stopped. If she was caught. If they caught up with them. For once it wasn’t just the fear of Death Eaters capturing Harry, or capturing Ron. This time she was scared enough just for herself. It was the fear of _him_ capturing _her_ … and the things that he might do.  
  
She’d woken a lot the past few nights, too hot after nightmares concerning what had happened with the Snatcher. Only in her dreams, he didn’t leave… and she didn’t want him to. Hermione found that she always woke from those dreams with a jolt, sweating and scared but mostly of herself- because surely that was sick and twisted?  
  
She blamed it on her lack of sleep. Told herself there was no way she could control her own dreams. But all the same it frightened her and she most definitely did _not_ want to be caught by him again.  
  
She scrambled over a fallen tree, jumping a large rock as she began to run down a slope. Merlin, they were everywhere. It was barely a comfort when she couldn’t see her Snatcher amidst the ones running close by. But her heart was in her throat. If they didn’t hurry, they were going to get caught.

That’s when she had stopped. The Snatchers behind her were still too far off, but there, in front of her were more of them. Before her Snatchers were popping out from behind the trees they were running towards. They had cornered them.  
  
_Shit._  
  
She turned and apologised, aimed a stinging spell at Harry’s face and watched as he fell. She snatched his glasses from his face. Tried to tell him with her eyes, tried to say that she was sorry. His face was swelling up and he looked up at her with wide, bewildered green eyes. She saw his eyes flash before suddenly she was grabbed violently from behind. Strong, thick arms wrapped themselves around her.  
  
_No!_  
  
Her heart was in her throat, pounding there just as hard as it had against her chest. She panted, trying to catch her breath but struggling at the same time. She wasn’t going to make this easy on them.  
  
“Don’t you touch her!” Ron shouted but her shriek caught in her stunned throat as he was punched in the stomach.  
  
Scabior saw it as he strode over. He saw the ginger’s valiant effort to protect the girl and the way she’d looked at him. He sneered. She hadn’t spotted him yet. He enjoyed watching her struggle, but was eager to be close to her again, to remind her that she’d missed her chance for freedom.  
  
Merlin, he just couldn’t help but want to tease her.  
  
“Get off me!” She demanded forcefully. But as she struggled in the grip of the Snatcher, she heard a smooth voice from behind her as more footsteps approached.  
  
“Your boyfriend’ll get much worse than that, if he doesn’t - learn- to behave himself.”  
He spoke slowly, purposefully staring at her as her eyes looked up, realising it was him from the sound of his voice.  
  
The light of his wand hit her face, highlighting those deep and frightened eyes.  
  
As far as he was concerned, the red head _should_ have gotten much worse than the punch to the stomach. He should have protected her. Something pretty and delicate like that needed saving, rescuing and the red head had done a piss-poor job.  
  
He smirked at her as he finished speaking. She didn't miss the comment, her head flashing back to their last encounter. She remembered his warnings to behave and then she saw Fenrir Greyback, in the flesh, holding onto Harry.  
  
_Oh no.  
  
Oh God. Oh Merlin. Oh shit!  
_  
Reluctantly Scabior moved his wand away from her, following her gaze to the werewolf. That explained the sheer terror that had fallen across her face. He cast the light of his wand onto the dark-haired guy they’d caught. As the light hit him, it revealed a swollen and disfigured face.  
  
“What ‘appened to you, ugly?” Scabior grimaced at the dark-haired guy that had accompanied her. What the hell was she doing with these two losers?  
  
Fenrir turned, his teeth bared.  
  
“Not you. ‘im.” Scabior pointed at the black-haired guy and stepped closer to him. When he didn’t reply, Scabior continued. “What’s your name?”

  
“Dudley. Vernon Dudley.”  
  
Hermione almost let out a sigh of relief. He had said the name as though it was his own. Hopefully they’d buy it.  
  
_Please let them buy it!_  
  
“Check the list.” Scabior instructed Greyback. “And you, ginger?”  
  
“Stan Shunpike,” Ron groaned, evidently still in pain and Hermione’s heart constricted at the sound of it. However, suddenly the Snatcher’s boot was at Ron’s neck as he struggled on the floor. Hermione wanted to cry out, but her words felt stuck inside her throat.  
  
“Like ‘ell you are. We know skinny Stan. Try again.”

Scabior was relishing causing the red head pain as he pressed harder. He wasn’t sadistic in nature, but when idiots did come wandering into his presence, he couldn’t help it. Besides, this guy had been with her and part of him wanted to know why? Scabior had seen his valiant act, too little too late. Not enough to save her.  
  
“Barney Weasley!” Ron rasped and Hermione wanted to sob in relief. At least it was believable.  
“Weasley eh? Wouldn’t be related to that blood traitor Arthur Weasley, would you?” The Snatcher questioned.  
  
_Oh no._  
  
“Piss off!” Ron said before he received a kick in the stomach from the Snatcher. Her breaths came out too quick, her heart was pounding. She was struggling to get free, but nothing would help. “Arthur Weasley’s ten times the wizard you are!” Ron continued and she wanted to scream at him. To tell him not to argue.

But the Snatcher had looked up at her again. Surprisingly his eyes were warning her not to say a word, before they slid over and fell on Greyback. Hermione’s eyes followed his gaze and she closed her mouth as the Snatcher returned to Ron.  
  
“Wasn’t you that tipped him off was it?” Scabior questioned. But he was no longer interested in the red head. Looking up at that pretty, little thing had reminded him of what he could be doing. Taunting her was going to be much more fun.  
  
He couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t give a shit about the two fellas that had been caught alongside her. He just wanted to be near her again.  
  
Hermione couldn’t help herself. That mix of fear and… well… _something_ else she couldn’t possibly name or consider, had her staring at that man. She was vaguely aware that Ron was being questioned by Greyback.  
  
She tore her eyes from his at the last minute, his smirk unnerving her.  
  
“A Weasley?” rasped Greyback. “So, you’re related to blood traitors even if you’re not a Mudblood.”  
  
_Oh God! Of course! Think Hermione! You have to lie!_  
  
Greyback turned then, approaching her- another Snatcher or two must have been holding Harry now. But she froze, her heart pounding in fear. She’d been wrong. So very wrong. This was much worse. Much, much worse. Being in the presence of Fenrir Greyback was far more terrifying than the Snatcher she had encountered.

Greyback was known as the most savage and cruel werewolf in existence, and Godric help her, he didn’t disappoint.

He was a mountain of a man, with matted grey hair and whiskers. The stench of him reached her nose, making her want to gag as he stood before her. He was too close. The smell consisted of rotting meat and wet dog hair. Oh Merlin. She felt so sick.  
  
Greyback smiled darkly at her, his teeth yellow, pointed and dripping with saliva as he licked his lips.  
“And what about your pretty little friend?” She couldn’t help the tiny whimper that left her lips.  
  
The relish in Greyback’s voice made Scabior’s skin crawl.

_No. No, not her. Not her._

Before he had noticed what he was doing, he had stepped over to them both, hand on Greyback’s shoulder as the other Snatcher’s jeered.  
  
“Easy, Greyback.”  
  
It didn’t sound like a warning. But it was. She was his. His pay-cheque, he had to remind himself. His way of life for the next month. He needed the money, and no way was this mutt taking that away from him.  
  
“Oh, I’m not going to bite just yet.” Greyback had assured them. “We’ll see if she’s a bit quicker at remembering her name than Barny.” Scabior motioned for Greyback to move by nodding his head. Fenrir moved, looking a little disappointed, before advancing on the dark-haired guy they’d caught.  
  
Scabior smirked down as her fear-filled eyes followed Greyback at first before looking up at his, a flash of thanks in them. He wanted to chuckle at her. At her naivety. Did she really think he’d done that to save her? However, he chose to smile instead, because now that flash of thanks had gone, and she seemed to realise that she’d gone from one serious situation to another.  
  
“And… what’s your name beautiful?”  
  
He had to admit, that question _had_ bothered him since he’d last seen her.  
  
“Pe-Penelope Clearwater. Half-blood.” She replied. He was too close. So close he was almost touching. Her skin was on fire again and she was trembling, frozen in his gaze. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t breathe.  
  
He was sure that she was lying. He knew a lie when he heard one and he saw the flicker in her eyes as she said the name. But he let it slide. In front of all these monsters he’d let it slide. Besides, it didn’t really matter _what_ her name was, as long as he got his money for her.  
  
He leant in, stroking her hair before inhaling its scent. Salazar help him, she was mouth-watering.  
  
“You smell like vanilla Penelope.” He breathed against the outer shell of her ear. “I think you’re going to be my favourite.”  
  
Hermione’s breath had caught in her throat, almost feeling the skin of his cheek against hers. He was so close. His lips were mere moments away. Her heart was pounding so hard, so fast that she was sure he must be able to hear it!  
  
“There’s no Vernon Dudley on ‘ere.”  
  
And then he turned, a smirk on his face as he turned his back to her.  
  
Reluctantly he turned away. At least that would serve her right. He’d just reminded her how easily it could have been, if she’d just given herself to him the last time they’d met.  
  
“Hear that, ugly? The list says you’re lying.” Greyback growled at the dark haired fella. “How come you don’t want us to know who you are? Hm?”

  
“The list is wrong. I told you who I am.” The dark-haired stranger replied but Scabior moved in front of him, putting a finger to his lips.  
  
His lit wand probed his face more closely.  
  
It was as he studied him, squinting at the swollen, disfigured face, that he noticed the mark on his head. The dark hair, the scar. Fucking hell! They’d found Potter!  
  
“Change of plan boys!” Scabior grinned, mentally counting the stack of galleons he was bound to acquire for this. As the group jeered, realising where they were going, Scabior turned to see the young woman stumbling, struggling in another Snatcher’s grasp.  
  
Shit.  
  
He would have to take the others with him as well wouldn’t he? His prey would have to come too. He had no idea why it bothered him. He had no idea, for that matter, why the hell he was playing with his pay-cheque. If he still got his money worth for her then it should be okay, right? They didn’t need her. She wasn’t important. He’d merely drop off Potter and be on his way with the other two, surely?  
  
He was counting the falling galleons in his head. They’d caught Potter. They’d get reward money for him and then she’d fetch a lovely little price, as lovely as she was. And then it clicked in his head.  
  
Shit.  
  
She’d been wandering around in the forest, with a red head and Potter.

Shit.  
  
She was that Mudblood. The Mudblood that had been accompanying him. The Granger girl wasn’t it?  
  
Shit!  
  
And it was too late now. He’d already given the orders. The group was already heading to Malfoy Manor and he was the reason she was about to be dragged in front of a lot of crazy-arse Death Eaters. Death Eaters who liked to torture and kill Mudbloods!  
  
Shit!  
  
He walked beside her and her assailant, catching sidelong glances at her. She was struggling, fighting the whole time. He noticed she didn’t give up the fight, not once. She really was a fiery little thing.

Scabior kept his eyes on her, considering what could happen once they arrived. He felt a tight knot in the pit of his stomach. He knew those witches and wizards and he knew what they did. He was about to take this innocent little bundle and drop her off in the hands of the Dark Lord’s inner-circle.  
  
She was going to die.

 

 

  
  
A/N: Okay, so please let me know what you think? I know that beginning was already done, but I had to show it from Scabior's side. It'll all be clear later >_< x  
I hope that the changes from POV weren’t too choppy and hard to keep track of.


	4. Tortured

New A/N: I hope you’re enjoying the edits. Please let me know what you think?

Original A/N: I know you’ve not had much smut yet, but you know what I’m like, :P I like to build it up! :D I hope you like this next chapter. I’ve been trying to cross over the films and the book ☺ ENJOY!  
  
Chapter Four  
  
**Tortured**  
  
  
_Oh God._  
  
Hermione’s heart was in her throat as they entered the gates to Malfoy Manor. The lump that was her frantic heart was pounding, making it hard for her to swallow. She felt too far away from Harry and Ron. She was being led by one of the Snatcher’s who was breathing heavily on her neck as he forced her forwards. She felt sick from the putrid stink of his breath, felt sick because of where she was… and because she could only guess what was about to happen.  
  
The grandness of Malfoy Manor wasn’t lost on her as she struggled against her assailant, but then, she wasn’t surprised. Malfoy had always been a snob, a spoilt little rich boy and a brat. His father was just as bad. It didn’t surprise her that his home looked like this.

The manor loomed over her in the darkness, tall and foreboding. As she stared at it, trying to make out details in the darkness, she was wracking her brain, trying to think of anyway they could escape. She glanced back at Harry and Ron. Desperation was running through her veins. They had to get away. They couldn’t go inside that manor. Because Hermione knew they’d never come back out.  
  
The man who had his arm wrapped around her shoulders was fighting against her, as she struggled in his grasp. He kept trying to grope her breast as she struggled against him. His horrible breath hit her nose again as he chuckled darkly.  
  
Then she heard a walloping noise.  
  
She turned, looking up at the Snatcher beside them. Her Snatcher, the one who had taken an unnatural interest in her it seemed. But whatever interest he had in her, it obviously wasn't enough to save her. Not enough to save her, or the others.  
  
“Oi! They ent to play with.” The Snatcher snapped at the one who held her, his grip on her breast having loosened instantly. She almost wanted to scoff at him, if she wasn’t so frightened of what he might do.  
  
The Snatcher’s blue-grey eyes were blazing, angry as he glowered at her captor. Suddenly he grabbed her sleeve and she was tugged forcefully into his arms. She felt the jolt run through her as soon as his hands fell on her. Her eyes widened as she looked up at him for a second, before he turned her around, forcing her forward again. He was holding a fistful of her jumper at her shoulder, and he pushed at her, almost gently, to keep her moving forward.  
  
Light spilled out over them as the large double-doors were opened.   


“What is this?” A woman’s cold voice, but Hermione couldn’t see its owner from where she stood. Greyback forced his way in front of her and involuntarily, she took a step back, tried to get away from him. She stepped back and pressed against the Snatcher’s body for a second before she caught herself, straightening again.  
  
Oh Merlin.  
  
Scabior looked down at the young woman in his grip. She was scared, he could practically _taste_ the fear coming off her in waves. And he was seriously beginning to regret his decision. They needed to hand Potter over, but her? If he handed her over, he knew the sorts of things they’d do to her. Yes, he definitely regretted his decision.

When that idiot had tried to fondle at her, a rage inside him had risen. One he hadn’t been aware of mere seconds before. Didn’t know why he felt the need to pull her away from his grasp, and into his arms.  
  
_It was nothing really. It_ _’_ _s just because you caught her. She_ _’_ _s yours. You don_ _’_ _t want others touching your prey_ _…_ _that_ _’_ _s all._  
  
But despite what he told himself, he couldn’t ignore the fact that he’d been looking at her the whole way over to the Manor. Every few seconds he had caught glances, studying her and trying to think of some way he could take her as his, rather than hand her over.  
  
He’d get far more for her in one piece, and where they were headed he couldn’t even guarantee that he’d get her back alive. If he even got her back at all.   
  
When the blonde woman at the gates had spoken, he had taken his eyes off the young woman who hand finally stopped struggling. She was standing stock still, listening carefully to the woman at the gate. He could almost see the thoughts running through her head. How she was frantically thinking of some way to get herself and the two idiots with her to safety.

_Sorry love. It’s too late now._

His eyes had finally moved from her to the woman at the gate. The one who lived inside that grand, beautiful building.  
  
Merlin, he would do anything to live in a place like that.

But when Greyback stepped forward to talk to the woman at the gate, the one in his arms stepped back, pressing against him. The fear must have overtaken her. He felt his groin hitch as her body pressed against him, but something else as well. He looked down at her, took in the fear, took in how small she looked around all the other men.

He watched as she seemed to realise what she had done, silently scolding herself as she stepped away from his body again. Had he been alone with her, he may have chuckled. But being where he was, in that situation, there was no humour inside him. Just a feeling of dread that he didn’t understand.  
  
“We’re here to see He Who Must Not Be Named!” Greyback rasped at the woman Hermione couldn’t see. She understood that neither Greyback nor these Snatchers had been _graced_ with Voldemort’s highest privilege; the Dark Mark. They might work for him, but they werent in his inner circle. They weren’t actually Death Eaters.  
  
_Not that it matters._ She argued back at herself.  
  
Because what did it matter who they were? Did it really matter how big and bad a monster they were? Because they were still that; monsters. So, did it really matter how they ranked in the grand scheme of things? They were there now. At death’s door. There was no escape once they entered that mansion. It would all be over.  
  
“Who are you?”  
  
Hermione’s heart dared to leap, hoping against hope that the woman at the gate would dismiss them. But as the man in front of her shifted to the side, as the Snatcher behind her stepped back, pulling her with him, she saw the owner of the voice; Narcissa Malfoy.  
  
“You know me!” There was resentment in the werewolf’s voice. “Fenrir Greyback! We’ve caught Harry Potter!” Hermione was forced back, into the body of the Snatcher once more as Greyback forced Harry in front of Narcissa.  
  
She couldn’t stop the small gasp of surprise that left her throat as she fell into the firm body of the Snatcher. He held her to him, both hands grabbing the clothing at her shoulders this time. She almost felt like he was pressing her back against him to protect her, to keep her from being noticed. To keep Greyback from remembering that she existed.  
  
But that idea soon shattered when the man behind her spoke.  
  
“I know he’s swollen, ma’am, but it’s ‘im!” Hermione closed her eyes for a second, wanting to kick at the man behind her. “If you look a bit closer, you’ll see ‘is scar. And this ‘ere, see the girl?” Hermione’s eyes flew wide as he pushed her forwards slightly. “The Mudblood who’s been travelling around with ‘im, ma’am.”

Hermione watched in stunned silence as Narcissa appraised her silently. She had that look on her face that told Hermione exactly what she thought of her. Disgust. Disgust was written all across her face. Narcissa finally looked away, giving Harry the same look of loathing.

Hermione stood, silently seething. Hating Narcissa for her bigotry. Hating the Snatcher for all he had done, but also hating herself for having thought for even that second that he might have been protecting her.  
  
“There’s no doubt it’s ‘im, and we’ve got ‘is wand as well! ‘Ere, ma’am.”

Hermione felt the Snatcher take a hand from her shoulder for a moment. His other hand tightened its grip on her coat at her other shoulder as she struggled. He thrust the blackthorn wand at Narcissa, her eyebrows rising, before his hand returned to her shoulder.  
  
"Bring them in."  
  
Hermione cried out slightly as she was forced up broad stone steps, caught before she stumbled by the Snatcher holding her clothes. He lifted her slightly, as she found her feet, before pushing her onwards into a hallway lined with portraits.  
  
Fuck.  
  
He hadn’t wanted to draw attention to the girl, but when the Malfoy bird had look so eager to dismiss them, he saw all those Galleons slipping away, right before his eyes. Saw himself starving and scavenging for the next few weeks. So, he had opened his mouth. Words had flown out before he thought them through.  
  
If she was the Mudblood though, he might still get a hefty award from this lot, he reasoned. Perhaps he didn’t need to take her on to the Ministry? He looked away from her after catching her as she slipped on the steps. He had to stop thinking of her as anything more than a pay-cheque. He would be getting rid of her one way or another after all.  
  
She had been the one to dismiss him, he reminded himself. The one to believe he was as monstrous as someone such as Greyback. So, what did it matter to him if he handed her over? She had her own idea of what he was like. He may as well live up to it.  
  
“Follow me.” Narcissa was leading them across the hall. All Hermione could hope, was that her stinging jinx on Harry would hold. If they couldn’t identify him, maybe they would send all three of them on to the ministry as they would have done with any others the Snatchers caught. No one there would know for sure. Not if Voldemort wasn’t there, and Harry had been so sure that he was abroad, searching for the wand.  
  
“My son, Draco, is home for his Easter holidays. If that is Harry Potter, he will know.”  
  
_Hermione’s heart plummeted into her stomach._

_Shit!_ _Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!_  
  
That cowardly idiot, Draco Malfoy, was going to be the death of them all!  
  
Hermione’s heart pounded as she tried to think it through. No. There was still a possibility that they could escape this. Harry had been so sure the night Dumbledore had died, that Malfoy had been lowering his wand. Perhaps there was still a chance, however small, to escape this.  
  
Her heart beat furiously inside her chest as they entered a large, grand room. The drawing room was dazzling, after the darkness outside. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, more portraits against the dark purple walls. There was much more to see but Hermione’s eyes were drawn to two figures as they rose from chairs in front of an ornate marble fireplace. Hermione kept her eyes on them as they were forced into the room by the Snatchers

Lucius and Draco Malfoy.  
  
“What is this?” Lucius’s smooth voice sounded from the blond man that had risen from one of the chairs, but from his outward appearance Hermione might not have been sure that it was truly him. Lucius Malfoy’s hair hung lankly about his stubbled face. He was still dressed in his majestic wizarding robes, but his top button was undone. He looked haggard, like living in Azkaban had done a number on him.  
  
Scabior could almost feel her shaking under his grip, as he held her shoulders. She stood still now, taking in her situation.  
“They say they’ve got Potter.” The Malfoy woman’s voice was cold. “Draco, come here.”  
  
Hermione tried to still herself. She knew she was shaking and was annoyed at herself for it. But she was terrified for Harry. She was sure that the Malfoys would like nothing more than to get their revenge on the three of them for thwarting their plans at the Ministry. The incident had resulted in Lucius’ incarceration after all.   
  
The Malfoys all stood there, surveying them. Draco looked pale and frightened. Narcissa held the same look she always did; the one Harry had once described as having dung under her nose. Lucius was the one that frightened her the most out of the three of them. He looked dark and dishevelled, something she had never seen from him before. She had never seen him look anything but royal and regal and rich. Now he looked as though he would fit in well with the Snatchers.  
  
“Well boy?” The werewolf rasped at Draco as her Snatcher stepped back slightly, pulling her with him. Perhaps he thought she would struggle free, make a bid for escape without her friends?  
  
He was wrong. She wasn’t going anywhere without Harry and Ron.  
  
“Well Draco?” Lucius Malfoy pressed his son fervently. “Is it? Is it Harry Potter?”  
  
Hermione stood silently, her heartbeat resounding in her head as she waited with baited breath.  
  
“I can’t- I can’t be sure.” Hermione let out a small breath of relief at Draco’s reply. _Thank Merlin!_  
  
She noticed that Draco was keeping his distance from Greyback, but also that he seemed to be scared of looking at Harry.  
  
“But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!” Lucius said, sounding sickeningly excited.  
  
_Jeeesh, that Malfoy didn_ _’_ _t want to quit, did he?_ _  
_  
Despite the image of all those galleons disappearing the moment the pale lad had said he couldn’t he sure if it was Potter or not, he also felt a small stab of unfathomable relief.   
  
Was it because he knew they would harm her? This Mudblood that he had in his grasp? Surely it only worried him because he would get less money for her if she was injured? At least they would have no reason to kill her if that guy wasn’t Potter.  
  
But Lucius Malfoy was pushing his son.  
  
“If we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv-“

  
“Now we won’t be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope, Mr Malfoy?” Greyback sneered, menacingly.

  
“Of course not, of course not!” Lucius replied impatiently. But Scabior had the horrible idea that he was lying, that, if they were not careful, they would not be rewarded for their snatching after all.  
  
“What did you do to him?” Lucius asked Greyback.  
  
Hermione felt sick.  
  
“How did he get into this state?”  


“That wasn’t us.” Greyback replied.  
  
No. No of course it wasn’t. It was her. She shifted in the Snatcher’s hold uncomfortably.  
  
“Looks more like a stinging jinx to me.” Lucius stated, and Hermione couldn’t breathe. “There’s something there.” His whisper made her blood freeze. “It could be the scar stretched tight... Draco come here, look properly! What do you think?”  
  
_No._ _No, no, no, no, NO!_  
  
Had it all been for nothing? Had the past few months been pointless? Was Harry going to be turned over here and now?!

Hermione watched Draco silently, willing him not to hand Harry over. Lie. Lie, damn it Draco! Do something worthwhile for _once_ in your pathetic life! She saw the reluctance in his face, and the fear.  
  
“I don’t know.” Hermione could actually _hug_ him! He walked away this time, towards the fireplace where his mother stood watching.  
  
The mummy’s boy had had enough it seemed. Scabior had seen how scared he was; looking at the swollen face of what might be Harry potter. Scabior was sure that it was. He had been sure since he had studied his swollen face in the forest. But he wasn’t going to argue, not if it meant he could leave with the three of them and still make his money’s worth out of them.  
  
No matter how much he might have gotten for Potter, he was sure he’d make far more for the three of them in one piece. Because he knew, the moment he’d heard Lucius lie to Greyback, they had no intention of telling their boss who caught him. They would get money for Potter, if they were lucky. But the blood traitor and the Mudblood would be tortured and/or killed. They would get nothing for them.  
  
Scabior would rather take his chance with all three of them, rather than rest his next month’s food bill on the head of this one guy who _could_ be Harry Potter.  
  
“We had better be certain Lucius.”  
  
Aw bloody ‘ell!  
  
The Malfoy bird was still chiming on about it. For fuck sake.  
  
“Completely certain that it is Potter, before we summon the Dark Lord.”  
  
So they still intended on calling him, did they?  
  
“They say this is his.” Narcissa looked closely at the blackthorn wand he had handed to her. “But it does not resemble Ollivander’s description. If we are mistaken, if we call the Dark Lord here for nothing… remember what he did to Rowle and Dolohov?”  
  
“What about the Mudblood then?”

Scabior couldn’t help himself as he heard Greyback’s rasping voice. His head whipped around at the same time as the girl’s he held in his grasp. Wand light suddenly shone down on her and he saw her squint as the Malfoy bird moved closer.  
  
Shit.  
  
“Wait,” Narcissa snapped sharply. Hermione felt her blood turn cold. “Yes- yes, she was in Madam Malkin’s with Potter! I saw her picture in the Prophet! Look, Draco, isn’t it the Granger girl?”  
  
Hermione looked out at him with wide, fearful eyes. A look she had hoped he would never see from her. But he was almost mirroring her. His eyes were full of fear, full of reluctance and he could barely look her in the eye.  
  
“I… maybe… yeah.”  
  
Hermione felt her heart sink. It was over. It was all over with that one admittance from Draco fucking Malfoy.  
  
“But then, that’s the Weasley boy!” Shouted Lucius, striding over to face Ron. “It’s them, Potter’s friends- Draco look at him, isn’t it Arthuer Weasley’s son, what’s his name-?”  
  
“Yeah.” Draco replied almost instantly this time, much less hesitation and reluctance in his voice. He had his back to them now. “It could be.”  
  
Suddenly the drawing-room door opened behind them.  
  
"Bella?"  
  
The coil of fear inside her wound even tighter at the sound of the woman’s name and then the sound of her voice.  
  
“What is it? What’s happened, Cissy?” Bellatrix Lestrange walked slowly past her and the Snatcher, ignoring him completely. But Bellatrix’s eyes were glued to her.  
  
“Lestrange.”  
  
The Snatcher holding her nodded at her. She felt it, but Hermione didn’t turn to witness it. Hermione tried not to shake beneath her cruel, dark gaze but felt the Snatcher’s grip tightened on his handfuls of her clothing.  
  
“But surely,” she said quietly, ignoring the Snatcher. “This is the Mudblood girl? This is Granger?”  
Her eyes were dark and full of malice. Hermione could see the insanity in them.  
  
“Yes, yes it’s Granger!” Cried Lucius. “And we think this is Potter! Potter and his friends, caught at last!”  
  
Hermione felt her last shreds of hope beginning to disappear.  
  
“Potter?” Lestrange shrieked and turned her attention back to the disfigured fella they had captured. Scabior loosened his grip on the girl slightly, realising he had tightened it whilst she was under Lestrange’s dark and menacing gaze.  
  
Both Lestrange and Mr Malfoy began to argue over who should call the Dark Lord, but Scabior was more concerned about the look Lestrange had given the innocent girl he held. It had been so dark, so full of malice and disdain. Perhaps he would still get the chance to take her? Perhaps they would have no need of her and he would be free to exchange her for Galleons at the Ministry?  
  
“Begging your pardon, _Mr_ Malfoy,” Scabior turned at Greyback’s interruption. “But it’s us that caught Potter, and it’s us that’ll be claiming the gold-“  
“Gold!” Lestrange laughed, still trying to throw off Mr Malfoy. Her free hand was groping in her pocket for her wand. “Take your gold, filthy scavenger, what do I want with gold? I seek only the honour of his- of- “  
  
She stropped struggling; her eyes fixed on one of Scabior’s men. It was all becoming clear that there was no way they were going to get their payment here. He cursed silently, wishing he’d just taken them to the Ministry.  
  
“STOP!” Bellatrix’s shriek made Hermione jump, as she turned to Lucius Malfoy. His hand was pulling up his sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark on his arm. “Do not touch it, we shall all perish if the Dark Lord comes now!”  
  
_Oh God._  
  
Hermione had no idea why Bellatrix was suddenly so afraid. She couldn’t see what the woman was looking at. But for Bellatrix Lestrange to be scared, it meant something seriously bad had or was happening.  
  
“What is that?” Hermione watched as she stormed over to one of the Snatchers. That was when he held the sword out from behind his back. Oh, Merlin no! They had Godric Gryffindor’s sword!  
  
“Sword.” One of Scabior’s men answered. He was confused as to why the thing was causing such a panic. He knew the woman was reputed to be nuts, but seriously! It was just a sword!  
“Give it to me.”  
  
“It’s not yorn, Missus, it’s mine, I reckon I found it.”

Scabior felt like smacking his hand to his head at the stupidity of the other Snatcher.  
  
Suddenly there was a loud bang and the girl unwittingly leapt back into him in surprise. Scabior straightened her hurriedly before looking up to see the Snatcher had been stunned. There was a roar of anger from the other Snatchers as Scabior let go of one of the girl’s shoulders to draw his wand.  
  
He shoved her sideways into another, younger Snatcher, who grabbed her as she struggled.  
  
“What d’you think you’re playing at, woman?” He snarled angrily at her. The guy might have been an idiot, but the idiot worked for him.

  
“Stupefy,” she screamed at him. “Stupefy!”  
  
Hermione tried to keep her head down but glanced up to watch what was happening. The Snatchers had turned on Bellatrix, but there were not enough of them, and they were no match for her. She was a dangerous witch with prodigious skill and no conscience. She took pleasure in torturing, maiming and killing.  
  
“Are you mad?!”  
  
Hermione found her eyes rested on those of the Snatcher who had captured her days before. He turned, firing a spell at Bellatrix but was hit by the black whip she had hit some of the other Snatchers with. For some reason her heart pounded harder, as his body crashed to the floor. She had no idea why. It wasn’t as though he had helped her in any way before now.  
  
“Get out! Get out!” Bellatrix shrieked at both Scabior and Greyback, who was staggering around like an idiot, clutching his throat. Scabior rubbed his hand across his, taking one last look at the young woman he had dragged into this mess. She was staring back at him, her eyes wide and fearful and filled with something else. Something he couldn’t quite place.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
Concern.  
  
It had been concern that had shimmered in those wide, cinnamon coloured eyes of hers. She had been concerned for _him_.  
  
Salazar, it made no sense to him why she should feel like that. And it made no sense why _he_ should be feeling that way now.  
  
But he couldn’t deny it. As he stormed about the corridor, the echo of Lestrange’s shouts and the young woman’s screams, reached his ears. They pounded in his head, telling him he was to blame. And he knew it. He wasn’t an idiot. Or maybe he was, because since when should he ever care like this about what happened to his pay-cheque? Perhaps it was just because he hadn’t been paid yet? Yeah… that must’ve been it.  
  
But as he stood, his back against the cold stone walls, he couldn't deny how thoroughly shit he felt, or how much hearing her tortured screams was bothering him.  
  
“Fuck!”  
  
His shout echoed down the empty corridor, waking an old, angry Pureblood in a painting at the end of it. He kicked the wall, hearing a pompous remark about having some; ‘ _filthy ruffian kicking at his castle_ ’  How; _'he was not worthy to be spat on by the likes of the Malfoys_ ' And; _'he had no right to_ _.’_  


Scabior pressed his head against the wall trying to block it all out.  


The painting’s words that echoed inside his head- because he knew what he was. He never doubted it, never tried to convince himself that he was better, because he knew it wasn’t true.  
  
Tried to block out the insane woman’s yells; because they were making his head pound. Reminded him of the welt he now had on his back where her whip had hit him, before tangling round his neck.  
  
Most of all he tried to block out those screams; because he knew it was his fault. Knew he was the scum of the earth, and right now he was okay with being told it. Okay with the beating Lestrange had given him. Because right now, with those echoing screams resounding in his head, he knew he thoroughly deserved it.  
  
* * * *  
  
Hermione had never been so scared in her life, when Bellatrix demanded that Harry and Ron be taken down to the cellar. Being wandless, unprotected and alone, Hermione was on the floor quicker than she could believe, her body was racked with pain.  
  
“Where did you get this sword?"  


Before Hermione would have liked, she was sobbing. She refused to admit the truth. She would never betray Harry and Ron. She would never. But the scream that left her lips echoed around the room.  
  
She could almost _feel_ Lucius’s smirk on her. Imagined that Draco was probably turned away, facing the empty fireplace, trying to pretend nothing was happening. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t ignore the pain of the Cruciatus curse as she was hit with it again. She couldn’t ignore the blazing pain in her arm, as Bellatrix began to slice and burn into it with her wand.  
  
She couldn't stop the screams.  
  
And as much as she hated herself for it, she couldn’t ignore the gut-wrenching realisation that no one was coming for her. The boys were locked in the cellar, unable to come to her rescue.  
  
She was alone.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
It happened in a whir.  
  
Scabior had been storming towards the drawing room, angry and determined to get his Mudblood back. Not to keep of course. Only to exchange for the galleons he so desperately needed to survive the next month. He had grabbed the bag and coat that belonged to the girl. It wasn’t hard, overseeing the Snatchers and all.  

He had been nearing the bottom of the staircase, about to enter through the opposite end of the drawing-room, when he stopped stock-still. He heard a noise, coming from just outside the drawing room.  
  
He almost chuckled to himself. It seemed the idiot boys had escaped the cellar, and instead of running for it, they were heading towards the drawing-room to rescue the girl. He smirked, knowing they would fail.  
  
As the two lads stood before the drawing-room door, which stood ajar, Scabior strained his ears to hear what was happening in the room beyond.

  
“I think…” It was Lestrange’s voice, still louder than it needed to be. “we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback can have her, if he wants?”  
  
“Noooooo!”  
  
For a moment Scabior was shocked. Scared that the cry had come from him.  
  
When sanity returned to him and once he'd berated himself for his stupidity, Scabior stuck his head around the edge of the staircase, to see the ginger blood traitor was rushing through the door. He smirked to himself as the ‘would-be-Potter’ ran into the room after him.  
  
He heard the commotion of fighting and duelling within as he crept to the door, eager not to rush in to meet his death.  
  
* * * *  
  
Hermione barely heard Bellatrix’s voice as she lay on the ground. Her throat burned from screaming, but not as much as her body did. She hurt all over. She had never felt such pain before. Now she knew why wizards feared the Cruciatus Curse so much. Why they feared _Bellatrix Lestrange_ so much!  
  
Her head was light, slow tears running down her face as she turned her head- her body screaming in pain at the one simple movement. She looked down at her arm but couldn’t even let out a sob at what she saw. She merely let the tears flow.  
  
_Mudblood._  
  
Her bloodied up arm stung, so she avoided moving it. She didn’t move any part of her body, even at the sound of Greyback’s name. She didn’t want to draw attention back to herself. Didn’t want to give them reason to punish her further. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep her mouth shut, but by God she wanted to. She never, _ever_ wanted to betray Harry. She refused to do it.  
  
It confused her as she lay there, considering what may be her last few moments, when her mind came to rest on the look the Snatcher had given her before he walked away. Of all things to think of, of all things to pique her curiosity, that was not one she should be considering in her last moments. Had she had the energy; she might have sighed. Might have scolded herself for the ridiculousness of it. But she couldn’t deny that last glance from him had both confused her, and hit her, down to the very core.  
  
He had looked scared for her.  
  
The quiet suddenly broke and Hermione tried to look up at the yelling that came from the door behind her. Unfortunately, she was forced up from her position on the floor, her head so light that her world span. She felt horrifically sick but fought to ignore it when she saw Harry and Ron were duelling against the Malfoys.  
  
That was when she felt it, the cold blade pressing at her throat.  
“S-stop!” She cried out. She could feel the beads of blood on her neck as the blade dug into her skin.  


“Drop your wands!” Bellatrix hissed from behind her. “Drop ‘em!”  
  
Scabior crept to the door, looking through it at the chaos within. Lestrange was holding the woman he’d snatched from the forest. She was holding a blade to the girl’s neck, warning the boys to stay back, to drop their wands.  
  
But Scabior followed the girl’s gaze, her eyes looking slightly out of focus. He saw the House-Elf on the chandelier, long before Lestrange noticed. He presumed that had been how the boys had made their escape from the cellar. He smirked, taking his chance, and apparated into the room.  
  
As the chandelier fell, Scabior appeared before the ginger dolt with a crack, shoving him out of the way. He caught the girl, who’d been dropped by Lestrange in her bid to escape the fall of the chandelier. Before he could give the red head a chance to raise his wand, he wrapped his arm around the girl, vaguely aware that she was screaming.  
  
Hermione’s world tilted as Bellatrix dropped her. She barely managed to raise her injured arm to protect herself from the falling debris, the other waited to take the force of her fall.  Then someone caught her. She looked up, expecting Ron’s warm eyes and jolted at the piercing ones that stared back. The Snatcher had caught her.

Her world span, her head too light as she tried to struggle. But his arm wrapped around her, his hand grasping her injured arm. In a matter of seconds, he had caught her and his hold on her was tightening, causing immense pain.

That was when she realised as she screamed, the pain in her arm worse than ever- they were apparating.  
  
Her head span.  
  
_No._  
  
As the feeling of apparition began, making her feel like she was being pushed through a small tunnel, the force of the apparition pressed both her and the Snatcher against it. And for all she knew they were. As they squeezed together, the pressure built, and her pain reached new heights. She was vaguely aware that someone was screaming. But instead of reappearing somewhere new, all she saw was darkness closing in on her.  
  
The piercing eyes of that Snatcher were the last things she saw before the darkness completely consumed her.  
  
Scabior came to a sudden stop inside his room, scrambling slightly to catch what was now a limp, unconscious form within his arms. He looked down at her, long dark lashes rimmed those cinnamon eyes that were closed to the world. And then he realised his hand was wet.  
  
He looked down at it.  
  
Blood.  
  
He hurriedly grabbed at the arm he had dropped in order to catch her motionless body. Sure enough, there, on her arm, was the smudged outline of a bleeding wound.  
  
One that read; Mudblood.  


  
New A/N: I hope you like my edits. Please leave me a review to let me know what you think. Or you can email me on the address enclosed below. Thank you Skye for being my Beta-reader

  
Original A/N: Hope you liked. Smut coming up. I promise. And If there are tonnes of mistakes in this, I shall come back to it. If anyone is interested in being my beta-reader for this fic please email me :)  
Gryffindorgirl2010@hotmail.co.uk


	5. Captive

New A/N: I hope you’re liking the new edits. Not sure though. So, I'm now also on Tumblr: http://gryffindorgirl7777.tumblr.com/ thought you might like that if you don’t want to post reviews on here. I will also continue to post on tumblr when I update.  
  
  
Chapter Five  
  
**Captive**  
  
  
Scabior looked at the young woman.

  
Long, dark lashes rimmed the eyelids that kept her cinnamon-brown eyes, closed from the world. She had wild, untameable hair, much like his. Only she had made obvious _attempts_ to tame hers and he had given in.  
  
Her cheeks were slightly flushed as she sat there. Her chin was against her chest, one side of her face almost on her shoulder as her head hung. He couldn’t help but keep studying her, from her slightly baggy clothes, to her rosy pink lips.  
  
She really was beautiful.  
  
He sat across from her at his small kitchenette table. He had his legs stretched out on the table at first but had just swung them beneath the table. He leant forward, eager to get a closer look. So now he leant his chin on one hand as he studied her.  
  
She’d been unconscious for a while since he had caught her, after apparating her to his one bedroom apartment. He wasn’t too concerned or surprised considering the amount of time and effort Lestrange had put in to torturing the girl.  
  
As he looked at her he couldn’t help but question himself. _Why the hell had he taken her?! What was he going to do with her now?_ _But_ he calmed himself, assuring himself that, had he been seen, the Death Eaters would have blown down his door over an hour ago.  
  
He peered at her, the mug on the table sat empty long after he drank it. It was for a long time that he sat gazing at the girl. She was beautiful, in a delicate sort of way. Her clothes looked too baggy on her, they didn’t suit her, didn’t flatter her. But it didn’t matter. He was content with staring at her as she was.  
  
_What_ ** _was_** _he going to do with her?_  
  
Before he could ponder that question, she began to stir.

He sat, chin in his hand as he smiled slightly, gazing at her still.

  
  
_Oh God._  
  
She hurt. Her body hurt all over.  
  
Had she fallen out of her bunk and slept funny on the forest floor? No. Something was pulling at her, telling her to wake her, telling her there was a reason she hurt so much, and that reason was dangerous. She needed to wake up!  
  
Hermione fought the urge to merely fall back into darkness again. She began to remember in a flood of memories.  
  
_Oh Merlin no! Harry! Ron!_

And before she opened her eyes, she remembered the ones belonging to the Snatcher, staring back at her.  
  
Her eyelids fluttered as she fought them, finding them heavy as she opened her eyes. At first, she saw her jumper, her shoulder. She caught the glimpse of a dingy looking room as her eyes began to focus. She saw a rickety single bed, an old one with a headboard of metal railings. She blinked, noting that the old wallpaper was peeling from the walls.  
  
Her eyes travelled, feeling like she was being watched as she began to fully awaken. Then she looked up, straight ahead of her, into the eyes of the Snatcher.  
  
Hermione gasped, shocked as her heart leapt fearfully from her chest. She bolted backwards, trying to get away from him. Only she found herself tied to a chair. She cried out as the chair tipped and the Snatcher’s hand reached out. He grabbed a handful of her jumper at her chest. He pulled her forward, the chair tipping forward slightly in momentum, before it stilled.  
  
“Careful there love. Don’t want yer t’ be cracking your ‘ed open, do we?”  
  
His smooth voice reached her ears, as she blinked furiously back at him, her heart pounding as she tried to calm herself.

Scabior watched as the realisation of her situation seemed to set it. She looked around hurriedly, her eyes darting wildly, taking in the grubby apartment. He didn’t care. He was watching, as her brain seemed to tick away behind those wide chocolate coloured eyes. He chuckled as she looked around, seeming to realise she was stuck.  
  
Hermione looked back at him, their eyes meeting for a scared for a moment before she steeled herself.

  
“Who are you?”

It wasn’t a question. She was pleased that her voice sounded strong, it sounded like a demand, not the timid question that had sounded in her head just seconds before.

She flinched involuntarily as the Snatcher let out a small laugh of amusement at her audacity. He sat back in his chair before leaning in again. He merely smirked at her, happy to tease and taunt her for a bit. But he didn’t answer her.

She looked around again in frustration, struggling against her bonds.  
  
“Where’s Harry and Ron?”  
  
Another demanding question, this time more fear-ridden than strong. She was terrified.

 _Where were they? Had they escaped? Was Harry being tortured and killed by Voldemort this very instant?!  
_  
“I dunno,” he replied bluntly with a shrug of his shoulders. He was still smiling at her. She growled, fighting furiously against the ropes that bound her hands, her body screaming in protest, her arm burning.  
  
“Let me go!” She shouted at him, fed up with the game he was playing. Because him not answering her questions was driving her nuts. Having him sitting there, so calmly, smiling at her like that whilst her mind was running wild and her heart couldn’t calm itself, well he was driving her mad.  
  
“Ah, I don’t think I’ll be doing that love.” 

She wanted to smack that damned smirk from his face, wanted to scratch those deep and searching eyes out. She felt as if he could see through her, down to her very soul. He made her feel naked, just with one glance from those penetrating, grey-blue eyes.  
  
She sat back against the chair, teeth clenched together.

  
“And why not?” Hermione bit the question out through gritted teeth, anger coursing through her body. She didn’t have time to play his games. She had to get out, find Harry and Ron, make sure they were okay.  
  
But the Snatcher’s only response was to chuckle again. Her anger rose as she growled angrily at him. “Let me go!” She snapped at him again.  
  
The whole time he sat there, his hand resting back on his chin now, she didn’t stop her struggle. She didn’t give up trying to get information out of him. It was clear to him now why Potter had hung around her. She was smart, strong, and beautiful. He knew what it was like to roam around the forest for weeks on end. No wonder they’d taken this beauty with them.  
  
“Look,” she tried to take a breath and calm herself down. But it didn’t work. “I don’t know who you think you are but…”  
“Hey missy, it’s my house you’re in, so mind yer manners.” He was still smirking at her, and she was simmering with anger.  
  
Hermione took another look around at the shabby room. So, then this was his house? No. It was an apartment, it had to be. The rickety single bed, the metal railings rusting, showing how old it was. The peeling wallpaper, the moth-eaten curtains. Merlin only knew what else was behind her, beyond her view. The kitchenette was tiny. There was a small cooker on which a whistling kettle was sitting silently. There was broken cupboard and another with a broken door, hanging from one hinge.  
  
Manners? Hermione Granger was usually the epitome of manners. But in this place? In front of _him_ , when the last time they’d met he’d accosted her?!  
“Ha!” She let out the derisive exclamation before she could clamp her mouth closed. She watched as his smirk finally fell, and in that moment her anger began to be replaced by something far worse- fear.  
  
Hermione was watching as he looked at her, his eyes piercing into her as he sat in silence. She couldn’t read the expression on his face, didn’t know how he would respond, but she was struggling fervently at her bonds again.  
  
_Nice going Granger. Upset the Snatcher holding you captive. Smooth move!_  
  
Her anger had gotten the better of her and now all she could do was wait for the Snatcher’s response… Wait for her punishment.  
  
Finally, after holding her breath, waiting for him to react, he silently got to his feet. He turned his back to her as he walked over and did something at the cooker.  
“This might not be the Ritz love, or the cosy palace I bet yer used to Princess. But this is my home, and you _shall_ show me some respect.”  
  
He knew he was snapping. He was annoyed. Pissed off at the little chit. Not everyone could afford to live in a castle. He was lucky he could afford to keep this place. He took a second to glance over his shoulder, saw her looking at the table. She looked pitiful, head down and looking worried. But he looked beyond her, at the room that she had searched moments before.  
  
Well, it was a tip, he supposed, but it wasn’t his main concern. He was barely there after all.  
  
“Tea?”  
  
One word, and she lifted her head to look at him. He still sounded slightly annoyed, but he seemed to be attempting kindness. This could be her chance. If she had a cup of tea, he would unbind her surely?  
  
“Y-yes please.” If he untied the ropes that bound her hands behind her back and tied to the chair, she could try and distract him. Try to make a run for it  
  
She looked at the doorway, ahead of her. She saw a small hallway that had two doors, one she assumed was the front door as boots and an umbrella were cluttered in the corner by it.

Scabior knew what she was thinking even though he had his back to her. He had no doubt she was going to try and escape. He almost went to chuckle again but remained silent.  
  
_Good luck with that!_  
  
He made her a cup of tea all the same. He wanted to at least give her the _chance_ to be well behaved. Perhaps if she were well behaved, he would be able to sit civilly with her? He might learn more about her, about what made her tick. About what made her fight so hard… maybe. Why it even mattered to him he had no idea.  
  
Scabior finally turned, placing his mug on the table before drawing his wand, looking at her sceptically. He rubbed the slight stubble on his chin, scratching his head with his wand at he considered her.  
  
Merlin, why couldn’t his wand just go off whilst he was scratching that tangled mass of hair with it?  
  
Hermione tried to keep her face straight as he looked at her. Tried to keep the anger from her eyes as she looked up at him. She found it hard to keep her eyes off the door. Merlin, her heart was pounding.  
  
Scabior knew she would try and escape. He guessed what her plan was but flicked his wand at her all the same. She cried out suddenly as the magical ropes unbound her from the chair. He watched relief flicker through her eyes, but it only lasted a second. He flicked his wand again and magical ropes forced her hands round to her front, coiling around her wrists once more.  
  
The young woman looked up at him in alarm and Merlin, he took some perverse gratification from it. It was delicious and she looked so confused. He saw the outrage running beneath her skin as she tried to keep it from her face. She was pretending to be good, to be innocent. And really, she was innocent; he could still smell it on her.  
  
“B-but…” She began, her eyes wide and questioning as she looked down at her tied hands. He merely ignored her, flicking his wand at the oven. He turned back, grabbing her mug of tea from the unit; a chipped, white mug compared to his black one.  
  
Fine. Okay. So, it wasn’t _entirely_ ideal, but she could still run. Hermione sat silently, heart racing as she waited for him to walk around the small table. He seemed to be going slower, just to annoy her. But it was probably just her imagination as she prepared herself to flee.  
  
Her heart pounded in her chest as he reached out, handing her the steaming mug of tea.

“Be careful, it’s hot.”  
  
That was all she gave him chance to say. As soon as she had taken the hot mug of tea in her bound hands, she threw it in his direction, scrambling frantically to get to the door.  
  
Scabior almost rolled his eyes as he flicked his wand with ease, dodging the hot liquid instinctively.  
“Impedimenta!” The liquid flew with the mug through the air in slow motion as he moved round it, snatching a hold of her arm.  
  
Hermione squealed in pain as he caught her injured arm, grasping his hand over the cut. She had propelled herself forward, her eyes set on the door, but he had grabbed her, pulling against the whole of her body weight.  
  
The mug smashed as it hit the ground.  
  
“Ah!” she squealed and then cried out as she struggled against him but he was having none of it. He pulled her back against him, dragging her back with ease. Her back hit him, her body pressed against his for a second, and he smelt that fragrance from her hair. The one that had haunted him for days.

Scabior forced her round hurriedly, looking down at her sternly as he picked her up around her waist. Her legs moved as she scrambled as he expected but it didn’t matter. He picked her up for only a second, before plonking her back down into her seat.  
  
Hermione flinched as he flicked his wand, finally pulling it away from her upper arm. It had dug into her skin, scratching her. But she was more grateful when he moved his other hand, the one that was now wet with her blood. The cut on her forearm had reopened in their struggle. She cried out again as the ropes forced her arms behind her back again, her eyes watering at the pain of it.  
  
“I didn’t want to hurt you.” The Snatcher stated, still sounding fairly chirpy, like he had in the forest when he spoke to her about Ron.  
  
_Your boyfriend’ ll get much worse than that, if he doesn’t - learn- to behave himself._  
  
The words echoed round her head, reminding her of his threats.  
  
_Oh Merlin, where was Ron?_  
  
“But you need to learn to behave.” The Snatcher bent over, looking into her face as she bowed her head. He smirked suggestively at her, making her shudder.

She was relieved when he turned away from her, heading over to the sink. She presumed that he was washing her blood from his hand. She felt the trickling blood slowly running down her arm. It hurt like hell, so she sat still, trying to think of a way out.  
  
Scabior turned to the small kitchen unit, pulling a frying pan from a cupboard. He couldn’t help that the corners of his lips were curling up, because he hadn’t missed the way she’d shivered under his smirk before he turned to scrub at his hands. For some reason he found unfathomable delight in the way she quivered under his gaze.

Scabior was sure she couldn’t miss the smell of food cooking in the oven, and sure enough, when he turned back to glance at her, she was staring at it. He grinned to himself. He could use that to his advantage. Barter his food for good behaviour. She’d have to eat before he sold her on anyway. No one would pay for a half-starved little thing like her… well… then he thought of a few men who might. Men like Lucius Malfoy.  
  
Scabior knew of Lucius Malfoy’s activities outside the manor. He knew what that Death Eater lot were like. Damn. He looked back at the girl who was staring intently at the oven, unable to hide the fact that she was obviously trying to come up with another plan. Fuck. He didn’t really want to hand her over to the likes of them. He’d have to choose a worthwhile client. One with less… sadistic pleasures.  
  
Damn. Hermione hated that the smell of the food was distracting her. When was the last time that she and the two boys had eaten a decent meal? They’d been making do on whatever they could scrounge up in the forest for so long. Bugger.  
  
_Concentrate Hermione! You need to get out of here!_  
  
It smelt like chips. She hadn’t had chips in months.

_Focus damn it!_

Hermione sat there, trying to focus on a way out of the situation she was in, but as the Snatcher dished his food up, her mouth was watering.  
  
Scabior dished up the fried eggs, chips and ham; the last of his food for now. He put the plate on the table, grabbing his knife and fork from the drawer that would never shut. He plonked down into the seat opposite her, a cruel smirk on his face as he looked up and saw the evident hunger on her face.  
  
Scabior tried to hide his smirk as he continued to eat his food in front of her. Really, he did, but he could feel the corners of his lip curl up as he ate. He could feel her eyes following as he lifted his fork to his mouth. He waited until he’d had five mouthfuls, savouring the taste of real food, before he looked up at her again.  
  
“Want some?”

The Snatcher smirked at her and she blinked herself out of her stupor. She hadn’t even realised she was staring at his food. She glowered at him, shaking her head and ignored the way her tummy disagreed with her decision.  
  
He stabbed his fork into a chip before holding it out to her.

  
“Yer Sure?” He leant forward, moving the chip towards her mouth but she clamped her lips together, leaning back away from him as far as she could go. She could feel how deep the frown was on her face but couldn’t help glowering at him.

Scabior laughed in response as he chewed the ham in his mouth. He couldn’t help but admire her stubbornness.  
  
“Well, don’t say I didn’t offer.” He smiled at her, chomping at the chip on his fork pointedly as she stared daggers at him. “Yer should’ve made the most of it, dunno when our next meal ‘ll be.”

 _What the hell did that mean? How long did he intend on keeping her there?_  
  
It didn’t take long for him to eat his dinner. It seemed he really had been hungry. Hermione presumed that he had also been living off what the forest could provide. She watched as he washed up his plate.  
  
“Why are you doing this?”  
  
Her small voice made him turn from the sink, looking at her as she stared back at him. He saw the sorrow in her eyes as she looked up at him, trying determinedly to appear strong. He wiped the plate up, regarding her for a moment.  
  
He had no idea really.  
  
“Need the money.” He replied a little gruffly. “We’re not all as fortunate as you Princess.”

Scabior turned away again to put the plate in the broken cupboard, before turning back to face her, waving his wand at the shattered mug on the floor. Saw her flinch again, her eyes following his wand  
  
“But you just handed over Harry Potter.” She spoke slowly, as though he might not understand the significance of what he’d done. “You do know that, right?”

  
“Yeah,” he shrugged, finding her attitude amusing. “So?”

  
“So,” her volume rose. “He’s the only one that can stop this war! Why would you do that?! Why would you want Volde-”  
  
He was across the room in a flash.  
  
Hermione felt the chair tip back as his hand pressed hard against her mouth. Her eyes widened and she took in the scent of soap and something else as his palm covered her lips. She looked up at him as he moved to stand behind her chair. He was looking around the room anxiously, his wand ready in his hand.

After a moment or two passed and nothing seemed about to happen, he seemed to relax slightly. He looked down at her, a frown on his face, his hand still covering her mouth.  
  
“Are you mad?!” He finally breathed, looking down at her in alarm. He looked cross, but also bewildered now as he frowned down at her. “His name’s tabooed you stupid girl. I don’t want tha’ lot tramplin’ through here.”  
  
He was obviously referring to the Death Eaters and his ilk and as angry as she was Hermione glanced around and looked back up at him pointedly. She saw the flash in his eyes as he got what she was getting at. The room looked as though it had been trampled through long ago.  
  
“Oi.” He said darkly, quietly. He lent down and she froze, feeling his breath against her neck. He spoke into her hair, his breath warm on her ear as he leant closer. Her arm pulsed with pain as his body pressed against the back of the chair as he moved closer. Her fingers twitched as the fabric of his trousers rubbed at the cut.  
  
Scabior’s groin hitched when he felt her fingers brush against his trouser legs. Merlin what he wouldn’t give for those hands to be a little higher.  
  
He licked his lips.  
  
“What did I tell yer about manners an’ respect Princess?”  
  
Hermione’s skin tickled as he breathed against her neck, speaking softly into her ear. But there was that feral growl in his throat as he spoke, that had frozen her in place. Her heart was thumping against her chest, loud enough that she was sure he must be able hear it…and her blood was coursing with anticipation. It was all she could to close her eyes for a moment, trying to drown it all out. Trying to ignore it all. Trying to abate the fear.  
  
Merlin. He breathed her in. That smell, the feel of her soft curls against his face. She was driving him crazy. And he was almost glad that she wouldn’t submit to him. Because he knew, that given the chance… he would ruin her.  
  
“Now crazy girl…” He kept his voice soft. “If I take my hand away, yer not gonna say anything stupid again are yer?” He brushed her hair back with his free hand, running the soft curls through his fingers. He gently brushed it behind her right shoulder, leaving her neck bare. He slowly removed his hand from her mouth, staying where he was with his face close to her neck, his legs pressed against her hands.  
  
Hermione wanted to whimper, but she stayed silent for a moment as he moved his hand. The smell of evergreens and earth had filled her senses at his proximity, and she remained still, waiting for him to move. But he didn’t.  
  
She waited, silently as he brushed her hair aside. She heard him breathe in near her neck and she tried to hold back the shiver that ran down her spine.  
  
“What was that? Hmm?” His quiet, inquisitive voice spoke so close to her ear. He had seen the way her body quaked. He was too close.

She had to do something. Anything. Because with him this close there was a tension in the air that threatened to suffocate her.  
  
“Why would it matter if the Death Eaters came here?” She tried to change the subject and felt him still in response. “Surely they’d be pleased… Wouldn’t they be glad that you had me… that I didn’t get free?” she trailed off, her heart aching as she thought of Harry… thought of Ron.  
  
“I doubt they’d be pleased wit’ me stealin’ you, Princess.” The Snatcher’s breath tickled the bare skin of her neck, his lips almost touching it he was so close.

  
“Why?” The word came out as a wispy breath and not the strong question she’d wanted it to be.  
She felt his rough fingers, his knuckles brushing the back of her neck. She tried not to shake, tried to ignore the fear coursing through her with her racing blood.  
  
“Because I stole you from ‘em.”  
  
Scabior watched her as he whispered against her skin. He heard the small, whimper of a noise that slipped between those rosy pink lips. Could almost see her brain ticking away as she silently questioned why and what he was going to do with her.  
  
Hermione’s head was spinning. He’d stolen her from Voldemort’s inner-circle? But it was more than clear that he wasn’t working for the Order of the Phoenix. So, who’s side _was_ he on, and why did he have her here, tied to the chair?

 _He doesn’t need to be on anyone’s side but his._  
  
Suddenly her memories flashed back to the incident in the forest. She felt him above her as she thrashed against him on the damp ground. No. No, she had to get out of there. She’d rather face the Death Eaters. At least if she was with them then she had a chance of being reunited with Harry and Ron, she considered miserably.  
  
Because she couldn’t begin to consider what she’d do if they were dead.  
  
Suddenly the Snatcher ran his tongue up the bare skin of her neck and her body jolted, her heart missing a beat. Unwittingly her body quivered. A mix of fear, hate and anticipation.  
  
She snapped her head round to glare at him as he laughed, leaning back slightly.  
  
“Stop it!” She snapped at him. “Please?” She tried, because maybe if she was polite she might get somewhere. She almost laughed at herself then, at the absurdity of the idea.

“Where are Harry and Ron?” She asked but he laughed again in response.

“You’re still worried about them?” Scabior exclaimed. He looked down at her bare neck again, eager to taste her skin for a second time. “Look, if Potter’s yer boyfriend then I’ve got news for you…”  
  
“Harry is not my boyfriend!” Hermione exclaimed, breathing fast, angry with him again.

“You mean you’re wit’ the ginger tosser?” The Snatcher began to question, looking both confused and disgusted.

  
“No!” But she fell quiet, the heat rising on her face. She had to look away, tear her eyes away from him as they watered slightly.  
  
_Harry, Ron_ _…_ _where are you?_  
  
Scabior was laughing heartily now.  
  
“Oh dear…” Because it was blatantly obvious from her reaction how she felt about the blood traitor. Oh dear, what was with her taste in men? She could do so much better than that dickhead.  
  
“How could you do this?” She suddenly shouted, apparently sick of him laughing at her as she twisted her head to look at him angrily. Her eyes looked shimmery, wet, but she held the tears back as she shouted at him. “How could you hand Harry over? How is he meant to defeat Vol-”  
  
His hand crashed against her mouth again; her face stinging where he’d slapped his hand against her.  
  
“Oi! Look crazy girl, I warned you.” H _e_ was annoyed now, but she hadn’t even thought about what she was saying. She was just so mad! But if she said his name, if the Death Eaters came, perhaps she could find out where Harry and Ron were? If not, she’d be sent to the other Muggleborns right? She could try and escape from there?

But she realised that she was spending a lot of time trying to convince herself of things that weren’t rational and if she was anything, Hermione Jean Granger was rational. Logical. No. She had to think of something else.  
  
The Snatcher finally moved his hand, but kept it hovering over her mouth for a second.  
“Are you nuts?” He breathed in exasperation. “What you thinkin’ sayin’ the Dark Lord’s name in the first place?”  
  
“I’m not afraid of him.” Hermione said blankly, still looking up at him as he stood behind her.  
  
“Well you should be.” Scabior said as he lifted his wand and saw the panic on her face before she clenched her eyes shut. “Silencio.” Her eyes snapped open and he watched as outrage fell upon her features.  
  
_No!_  
  
But as she went to cry out, nothing came. Not one sound.  
  
“Well, that’s better. Don’t want that lot runnin’ through this place in the middle of the night.” He said, referring to the Death Eaters. He looked down to see she was mouthing up at him, and he smirked in reply.  
  
He leant toward her neck again; felt her still as he stalked round the chair to stand before her. He crouched down, keeping his eyes on her, a small smile on his lips as he took her in. She really was a beauty.  
  
He reached up and Hermione’s eyes widened. It was the only thing she could do in response. His hand gripped her chin and forced her to look at him. She held his gaze as he peered at her. Peered into her with those blue-grey eyes. And again, she couldn’t move.  
  
Heh. She really _was_ beautiful. The more he looked, the more he saw it. His eyes stared into hers and saw the fear there, the sorrow. He saw the strength, the determination. And he saw the innocence, her pureness.  
  
_How could you?_  
  
She mouthed the words, her eyes watery but holding the tears back. Her chocolate-brown eyes stared at him, accusing. And quite suddenly he felt the need to get away from that look.  
  
“You know there are those of us whose lives ‘ave gone to shit because of yer little Potter friend, Princess.” He said snidely as he got to his feet, annoyed, but not at her. Not annoyed enough to raise his voice or give her reason to fear him further. Just annoyed enough to voice a reason, to try and get that look in her eyes to disappear.  
  
“Not all of us have the means or methods t’ pick a side. Your precious lil boyfriend there may _think_ he’s fighting for what’s right, but what about those of us who aint in a position to fight? Things aren’t just black and white love.”  
  
He turned back to her, her accusing gaze annoying him further, burning into his skin. He chuckled bitterly then.

  
“It’s not like you’ll ever understand. Even if you’re a Mudblood, you came from a rich home…” He could tell that, just by looking at her. Just from what he’d learnt from watching her since he’d chased her in the forest. “There are those in this world tha’ weren’t so fortunate. Those who had it hard enough to begin with… before your _boyfriends_ started a war.”  
  
He was almost sneering as he leant against the table, glaring at her, his arms crossed. He was looking at her, his head tilted to one side as he looked down at her. The expression on his face was almost daring, daring her to respond.  
  
But Hermione couldn’t answer back. No matter how much she silently screamed at him, there was no point in opening her mouth.  
  
And the sad part was, she kind of understood it! Really, she did. Because even the Wizarding World seemed to have classes, classes that it shouldn’t have, and was always pretending they didn’t exist. Although all witches and wizards in Britain started off in a castle, she hadn’t given much thought to what happened to them after. She had always been smart, a lover of learning- top of her class. She’d always been told she had promise. She would go far in the Wizarding World. She just hadn’t given enough thought to those who weren’t. The ones who didn’t have much of a home to return to once they finished school.

 

Wasn’t that why they were all in this mess? Because Tom Marvolo Riddle had grown up miserable, trapped in a lousy muggle orphanage? Had something similar happened here? Is that why her abductor was a Snatcher? She didn’t know the first thing about him. Didn’t even know his name. And though she still hated him, still feared him, it irked her.  
  
Still, she couldn’t speak anyway, she reminded herself. She had no need to know his name right now because she couldn’t shriek it back at him.  
  
Scabior stood silently for a moment, still not liking the way she was appraising him. Didn’t like the flicker of pity he’d been sure he’d seen there.  
  
Scabior held her gaze for a few more silent and awkward minutes before he finally groaned and rubbed his hand over his tired face. He’d gone long enough without sleep. Two nights of stalking through the forest and hunting her down before he had caught her and taken her captive. He really needed to get some sleep if he was to be on his toes.  
  
The young woman was struggling at her bindings again when he straightened up. She seemed to sense he’d had enough of the one-sided argument and had taken to trying to escape him again. She just wasn’t giving up the fight.  
  
Again Hermione sensed that it just wasn’t fun for him anymore. So, he’d had enough of ranting at her, but what he had planned next she didn’t know and could only guess.  
  
Scabior waved his wand, perturbed when she flinched and closed her eyes again. Why did it even bother him?  
  
He watched as she opened her eyes in surprise when she found her magical bindings had released her from the chair. Her hands were still tied behind her back, but she wasn’t tied down anymore. She leapt to her feet and backed away, the chair spilling over noisily as he sighed.  
  
Because she still wasn’t giving up and it both annoyed and amazed him.  
  
Hermione backed up, looking around the room, the only sound was her panting breath. She glanced behind her but saw that the window blocked up with wood on one side. She glanced out the other side but saw nothing but the rooftops of similarly shabby houses and apartments beneath and around them.  
  
She looked up as he approached and Scabior was sure that she caught the roll his eyes. With her hands tied together all she could do was try and dodge to one side, pulling her hands out of his reach. But he was a Snatcher. He was trained for this and she was unarmed.  
  
Easily he grabbed her arm, moving to grab hold of the magical ropes between her two wrists. She winced as the rope rubbed at her skin but when she noticed him looking down at her she wiped the trace of pain from her face. She scowled at him, but he saw the pain in her eyes. Saw desperation running through her veins- and how he could taste it in the air around them.  
  
Hermione was afraid. She had no idea what his plans were, what awaited her now that his sit-down-and-talk civility had ended. Had it all been a plan to lull her into a false sense of security? Because it hadn’t worked. Not once had she felt calm or comfortable in his presence. His eyes seemed to pierce her to the core every time he glanced her way… and she hated the way it made her feel.  
  
He tugged on her arm, pulling her towards him. She crashed against him, unable to prevent it. He didn’t smirk, didn’t give anything away with his expression. He just stared at her.  
  
Hermione opened and then closed her mouth- because she had nothing to say when no one could hear her.

Suddenly his free hand reached up, his fingers hovering close to her cheek. She struggled again, but he held her firm, the ropes burning and breaking her sensitive skin. Her injured arm was screaming at her to give up the protest. Her sleeve had fallen over part of it and was rubbing at the open cuts. The ones to remind herself of what she was.  
  
Finally he spoke, his fingers brushing her hair back from her face as though trying to soothe her.  
  
“Now, do yer think yer can behave, whilst I get some sleep?” It was simultaneously almost suggestive and almost a threat. She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She turned her head away from him, frowning. But after considering him for a moment she looked back up at him, silently pleading.  
  
_Please_ _._ _Please let me go?_  
  
She mouthed the words up at him. But it wasn’t enough. He slowly shook his head before turning around. He began to pull at her and she desperately dug her boots into the floor, trying to hinder him. He had no idea where he was taking her. All she knew was that whatever was beyond that room, she was sure she didn’t want to find out.  
  
She was quite a pain in the arse really. Scabior had to move, to stand behind her and force her on, her boots slipping on the floor as he pushed her forward. He almost sighed at her in exasperation.  
  
In moments they had reached the hallway, and for a panicked moment, Hermione began to wonder if he was taking her outside. Was he ready to trade her for his galleons already? She was going to be traded for his next meal, bartered away like a possession. She felt her blood boil in frustration.  
  
Well. She was nobody’s possession and she wasn’t about to make this easy for him.  
  
The young woman increased her struggle, flailing about as much as she could. She even surprised him by trying to bite at him. He almost chuckled at that but concentrated on moving her without injury. Eventually she just tried to sink to the floor in the hallway; a dead weight to hinder him. But it didn’t. He merely tugged at her arm, pulling her along as her legs dragged and scrambled along the floor, her boots doing nothing to stop him.  
  
Hermione looked up and saw the room they had left becoming further away as he crossed the small hallway. He opened the door and cold air hit her, making her shiver. She thought he was leading her outside but when she twisted her body, her legs scrambling as he dragged her, she saw that he had in fact opened the door to the bathroom. It was evident that the door was kept shut for a reason, the room was like a fridge.  
  
“You can cool down in here ‘til I say otherwise.” His smooth voice was at her ear as he practically threw her to the floor.

The pain in her injured arm was searing now and the rest of her body wasn’t feeling much better. She went to frown up at him, but he’d waved his wand. More ropes appeared, wrapping themselves around a thick, metal pipe that ran through the bathroom from floor to ceiling. It was thick, the type you would get in old factories and warehouses. It reminded her oddly, of the pipes in Myrtle’s bathroom at Hogwarts.  
  
But she didn’t have time to consider it further, because once the ropes had circled the pipe a few times, they hurtled towards her. She cried out, making no noise as she tried to scramble away. The rope was faster, however, and wove itself around the bindings on her wrists. She let out a startled cry as the rope tightened, her body dragged along the bathroom floor before slamming her back into the pipe.  
  
Her eyes watered, as she let out a silent scream. The force in which she had slammed back into the cold metal reverberated up her back, but mostly her arm seared in agony. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply, turning her head away from him so he couldn’t see the tear that ran down her face.  
  
“Sorry ‘bout that.” But he didn’t sound sorry at all. He crouched down before her, one of his hands coming to rest on her leg. That touch disturbed her. She couldn’t help but glare at that hand as though it was burning her.  
  
“Now, if you’re good…” he began. But that hand slid up her leg and suddenly she couldn’t hold her anger back anymore. No matter how much her body hurt and screamed and shouted at her, she ignored it, suddenly kicking out. One of her legs kicked at his knee, the other his shin.  
  
He swore, jumping back away from her and getting to his feet. He frowned at her in disbelief, stepping back out of her reach as she tried to kick him again. She was frowning back up at him. Her angry wet eyes met his as she glared directly at him. The anger, pain and fury in those chocolate-brown orbs was jarring. For some bizarre reason the way she was glaring at him…it bothered him.  
  
“So I guess we’re gonna scratch the being good part?” He waved his wand lazily and more ropes wound their way around her, this time binding her ankles together.  
  
_Let me go!_  
  
One last try. One last attempt at imploring to his humanity. But he merely sighed before stretching his arms over his head. He let out a yawn before turning his back to her. Hermione looked around hurriedly. She shifted as much as she could, the pain pulsing in her arm. She kicked out her bound feet, hitting another pipe, the noise reverberating loudly around the room.  
  
He looked back in surprise, but raised his eyebrows in amusement.  
  
“No one can hear you love.” He told her.  
  
That much she’d already guessed, as she hadn’t been gagged in the first place. The only reason she appeared to have been silenced now was because he feared her calling the Death Eaters to him. All the same, any hope that she had remaining was dwindling away.  
  
“Even if they can, no one will come for you... not round here.” With that said he smirked at her devilishly. “B’sides, they’re used to a fair amount of noise from my place… if you get my meaning?”  
  
The Snatcher made a clicking noise with his tongue and winked at her before she looked away from him in disgust. That was when he stepped out of the cold bathroom, shutting the door behind him.  
  
Hermione heard him charm the door to the bathroom, locking it shut but he didn’t guard the room from noise. It seemed that he wanted to be able to hear what she was doing in there. She guessed it was in case she found some means of escape. Well, if he wanted to hear what she was up to then she would make sure that he would. She was going to make as much noise as possible. Because Hermione Granger never gave up!  
  
  
A/N: Please let me know what you think? :S Thank you Skye for being my beta-reader.


	6. Wanted

New A/N: Hi there. Please leave a comment/review and let me know what you think? Reviews/comments are like druuugs. I neeeeed them 😉 but seriously I do want to know what you think about the edits.

Original A/N: Enjoy!

 

  
**Previously:**  
  
Hermione heard him charm the door to the bathroom, locking it shut but he didn’t guard the room from noise. It seemed that he wanted to be able to hear what she was doing in there. She guessed it was in case she found some means of escape. Well, if he wanted to hear what she was up to then she would make sure that he would. She was going to make as much noise as possible. Because Hermione Granger never gave up!  
  
  
* * * *

 

Chapter Six

  
**Wanted**  
  
  
  
  
Why wouldn’t she just give up?  
  
_Merlin! Bloody hell!_

  
The noise she was making rivalled that of a rampaging Hippogriff.  
  
Scabior pinched the bridge of his nose. She hadn’t given up making as much noise as possible since he’d left her in there. She just seemed to be continuously kicking at the bath or the two other pipes that were in there. The noise was reverberating from the bathroom and echoing all around his apartment.  
  
_She better not break the plumbing in the toilet._  
  
Scabior growled to himself. He had managed a little sleep, but he couldn’t settle properly with that continuous pounding noise. And Salazar, she was still at it! Kicking at it with gusto. Stupid girl.  
  
He sighed, finally climbing off the bed he was lying on top of. He had to do something to shut her up.  
  
Scabior stormed through the doorway into the hall and flicked his wand undoing the locking charm he had placed on the door. He pushed the door open slowly, leaning lazily against the door frame before he crossed his arms over his chest.  
  
Hermione was still kicking at the pipe in front of her, hard. Her legs were still bound tightly, her feet hurting from where the ropes cut off the blood flow. But she kept kicking at the pipe with her boots, angrily.  
  
She was not going to play good for him. She was not going to make it easy on him. If he insisted on keeping her tied up in there, she was going to let her utter contempt for him known.  
  
Night had fallen a while ago and it had been a few hours since he had left her in the cold, drafty room. She was cold, but her stubborn refusal to give up her efforts kept her from sitting alone and shivering to herself. At least it kept her warmer than she would have been if she gave up.  
  
Hermione looked up as the door opened and stilled for a second. Her heart caught in her throat as she took in the Snatcher. He was standing, leaning against the doorframe in nothing but low-slung, grey jogging bottoms.

The Snatcher’s body was tanned- that or dirty from the earth of the forest. He was toned, not scrawny but athletically built in a way that his muscles weren’t bulging but were well defined. She caught a quick glance of his toned chest before he crossed his arms. He had a smattering of dark hair across his chest and she noticed the few scars that littered his body. He had a couple of black marks that she knew to be tattoos, but in the dim light she couldn’t make them out. Her eyes travelled over his flat abs and down to his toned hips. They followed a trail of thin dark hair that led down and disappeared beneath the grey of his jogging bottoms.  
  
She berated herself for staring as he tilted his head to the side slightly, accessing her.  
  
The young woman stubbornly kicked out at the pipe in front of her, her eyes frowning up at his the whole time. He smirked down at her. He was sure he’d seen the shock on her face as her eyes traced his body the moment he opened the door.  
  
“Now Princess…” His smooth voice added another unfathomable reason to why Hermione shivered. “Will you kindly shut the fuck up?” He was still smiling slightly, still playing with her. “ _Some_ of us are trying to sleep.”  
  
_Remove the spell!_  
  
She mouthed the words at him, but he blinked back at her, mocking. He reached his hand up to cup behind his ear, taunting her.  
“Sorry, can’t hear you.”  
  
Hermione grit her teeth as she tried to hide the pulsing agony that was now one of her limbs, and struggled violently against her bonds.  
“Yer might wanna stop doing that by the way.” He motioned with his finger to the pipe. There was a series of black scuff marks on it, but that’s the only damage she’d succeeded in doing to it. Her eyes followed his gaze for a second, before returning to meet his.

  
“Well, if yer need the loo, how am I gonna know?” He sneered at her evident disdain. “Yer _have_ heard of the witch who cried troll ‘aven’t you?” He continued to taunt her.

The Snatcher walked into the bathroom then, making her bolt against the pipe. Hermione had to squeeze her eyes shut as they watered from the intense pain shooting up her arm. She opened her eyes, annoyed to see that he had walked past her, further into the bathroom. Also, annoyingly, that she’d missed her opportunity to kick him. Merlin, she wanted to kick his shins in.

Hermione had her back to him now and she tried to angle herself so that she could see what he was doing. She didn’t like not being able to see him. Didn’t trust him for a second.

To her utter disgust and horror, she saw him standing at the toilet, heard him as he emptied his bladder. He was pissing in the room with her in it. What made it worse was that he turned his head, glancing back at her and grinned wolfishly.

He noted the outrage simmering beneath her skin, the disgust on her face. He wanted to wipe that holier-than-thou look from her face. Wanted to taunt her further because of that revulsion in her eyes.

“If yer wanted to get a good look love, yer only had to ask.” Scabior taunted, as he finished urinating. He turned just slightly, not really intending on giving her an eyeful… unless she wanted that of course.

The girl’s jaw dropped.

Scabior chuckled heartily at her response. Those cinnamon coloured eyes were wide, her lips parted as she looked up at him completely aghast for a second before her head turned away so quickly, he thought she might get whiplash.

Scaior tucked himself away and washed his hands before stepping round her once again, sneering when she kicked out furiously at him as he passed.  He chuckled lightly again as he nimbly avoided her kicks. He turned back to her then, careful to stand far back enough to remain out of her kicking range. He crouched down, facing her.  
  
“ _Do_ yer need to _use_ _the facilities_ Princess?” He smirked at her, but she merely glared angrily back at him. “Last chance?” But still that angry glare. “Now, I’m gonna go back to sleep, and this time you’re going to keep quiet. Right?” He questioned her.  
  
But Hermione was so angry, so furious that he thought he could treat her like this. Her only response was to spit in his face. She watched, as though entranced as he closed his eyes for a moment and suddenly the fear washed over her again.  
  
_Nice going genius! This is exactly the sort of rash behaviour you yell at Ron for!_  
  
It was true, but there was something about this guy that just got under her skin. Made her mad. Made her suffocate on the tension that seemed to rise between them… but now she was going to pay for it.  
  
She scrambled back as much as she could, pulling her knees up before her, pressing herself into the small corner between the large pipe and the wall. She braced herself, prepared for his retaliation as he reached up and wiped the saliva from his face.  
  
“Well, if you can’t behave in here, I’ll ‘ave to take you in there to sleep with me… and we won’t be doing much sleeping.”  
  
That was it. That was threat enough. Scabior saw the terror on her face as she realised what she meant. She began to shake her head furiously, panicking. Her eyes watered but she held the tears at bay. She was mouthing at him, pleading him not to.  
  
He smirked darkly at her. He never had any intention of it. He wasn’t about to repeat the mistake he’d made in the forest. He wasn’t up for unwilling partners. They bored him. Toying, taunting and teasing them into it on the other hand, or bargaining it- that was something he quite enjoyed.  
  
“Well then. Behave.” He warned and rose from the floor with a final smirk. And as she watched him leave, those eyes still filled with panic, he knew what was about to occur the moment he reached his bed. Sure, enough that thumping noise on the pipe returned. And he lay there, listening to it, uncaring anymore to do anything about it.  
  
* * * *  
  
Scabior found that he was stirring what must have been hours later. The room was now pitch black and he realised he must have fallen asleep to the rhythm of her kicks against his bathroom plumbing. But as he sat up, sprawled on his front, his face previously buried in his pillows, his heart began to beat faster.  
  
The kicking and thumping noises from the bathroom had stopped.  
  
His wand had been in his hand, under the pillow, as he fell asleep. After years of living the way he did, he’d grown used to it. He pulled his wand out and was out of bed in seconds. He was looking around the room, listening for signs that maybe the Death Eaters had caught onto him and had somehow silenced her. His eyes searched the shadows for them, his ears peeled for any sound.  
  
Scabior heard nothing. Just the usual sounds that came with living in his part of town. He moved slowly to the hallway, creeping with vigilant eyes that could see well in the darkness. His trained eyes saw nothing, and his eager ears heard nothing unusual. He flicked his wand, casting a spell for the door to open before him. He kept his wand aimed at the bathroom doorway as the door swung slowly open.  
  
The room was empty, apart from a small, curled up figure in the corner between the pipe and wall. The coldness of the room hit him suddenly, and even he had to wrap his arms around himself and briskly rub his shoulders.

He crouched before her, reached out, gently brushing her pale cheek with the back of his knuckles. The girl was freezing.  
  
Hermione had been kicking the pipe relentlessly for hours. Despite his threat she just couldn’t sit there and give up. She couldn’t just sit there and behave for him. She would cause as much of a problem for him as she could. And if he came to fetch her, she would fight him relentlessly in the other room as well.  
  
She only wished her body didn’t hurt so much. She wished that she could stop her shivering because it was making the pain worse,  the main cause of her pain was that arm. The one with dried blood on, and half a sleeve sticking to the bloody injury. The pain was pulsing up her arm, and the angle she was at didn’t help either. With her wrists tied to the pipe she tried to lean on the wall as much as possible. She couldn’t lean on that arm. She couldn’t do anything that might make it worse, because the threat of passing out from it again was all too real.  
  
As she kicked at the pipe, thinking of Harry, thinking of Ron, her energy began to ebb away. She fought against herself, refusing to give in as her body racked with pain as she shivered. The pain in her arm was excruciating now, and she had long since given up her struggle with her bonds. Her wrists were chaffed and sore, the skin surely broken there.  
  
Her world was getting darker as the night around her drifted in. She felt like she was just a being constructed of nothing but discomfort, distress and injury. And the injury part was definitely overtaking the others. Because she could feel nothing now but the pain in her arm. The rest of her was numb, almost sore with cold.  
  
She was still trying to kick out, to stay focused on that. Stay focused on Harry, on Ron. But even she was aware that the darkness wasn’t just that of night. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, breathed deeply to stop herself from sobbing. Finally, when the exhaustion became too much to fight on top of everything else, she gave into that darkness once more.  
  
  
At first Scabior simply summoned a blanket, one from his armchair. But as his knuckles traced her delicate, cold, soft skin again, he decided it wasn’t enough. He looked around quickly. He hadn’t meant to leave her in there that long. In fact, what had he been thinking, leaving her in there in the first place?  
  
He leant forward, looking at her worriedly as he moved. Her knees were close to her chin, her head tilted to the side as she leant on the wall.  
  
Something startled Hermione awake. Maybe a noise? She wasn’t sure. But as she came too, the Snatcher’s face was moments from hers. She went to call out, instinctively crying out and jolting away from him but she hit her injured arm in the process. She gasped before cringing; her eyes shut tight to keep any tears from falling in his presence.

When she opened her eyes again, she saw his wand in his hand and cowered from it. She was too tired and unable to do much to fight back in her condition.  
  
It surprised her when her bonds loosened from the large bathroom pipe. Her hands remained tied behind her back, much as the ropes remained tied at her feet, but she looked up at him in surprise. His eyes didn’t meet hers however, he’d moved into her, one arm sweeping under her knees. He surprised her completely when he wrapped his other arm around her and lifted her from the cold, hard, stone floor of the bathroom.  
  
It was with reluctance that Scabior was going to let her use the bed, but the guilt won over any kind of predatory wish for power over his captive. No matter how much he wished for her to behave- or how he would treat her in order to get her to do so- he did not want any harm to come to her.  
  
Hermione tried to struggle at first, too close to him. That smell filled her senses again, her head so close to his naked chest. Evergreens, earth and something else she couldn’t put her finger on. Where he’d slept, some of his wild hair had come free from where it was usually tied. It tickled her face as he carried her, surprising her by how soft it was. It seemed it was just very tangled.  
  
She realised as she wriggled, that his strong arms were carrying her effortlessly, as if she weighed nothing, However, the pain in her arm and body worsened as she shivered and struggled in his arms. She realised that if she continued, he might drop her. Uneager for more pain, she lay still in his arms. Her heart pounding.  
  
Was he really keeping to his threat? She had stopped the noise, hadn’t she? Was he going to punish her for keeping it up for so long? She swallowed painfully, beginning to wish that she was back in the fridge of a bathroom.  
  
Hermione’s heart pounded furiously; certain that he could feel it before he dropped her onto his bed. She landed to one side, relieved that she hadn’t landed on her injured arm as she bounced against the mattress slightly.  
  
The young woman bounced against the mattress just the once when he dropped her, before twisting to look up at him. Her eyes were wide and cautious. He stepped back, sat on the bottom of the bed and simply looked at her.

Silence.  
  
Silence answered them as they stared out at each other.

Scabior took a sharp breath, finally moving. The young woman scrambled back as he approached from the bottom end of the bed. He knew that he must look so predatory as he crawled up it, but he couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help moving towards her.

Hermione’s heart was in her throat; her mouth so dry, that had she even been able to, she doubted she’d be able to scream. The tension between them was palpable.

Scabior crawled up the bed towards her, as she scrambled back away from him- as he had planned. But now he was there, now she was on his bed… her sleeping arrangements weren’t what filled his mind.  
  
In fact they had long since fled it.  
  
Hermione tried to press herself against the mattress as he braced himself above her and for a moment she froze, caught in his gaze. Those blue-grey eyes held her there, unmoving. She was breathing fast as he leant over her, staring intently. And those eyes. Those eyes were boring into hers. She saw something in them as he gazed down at her, that she’d never seen before from any other man. Something that might be lust… and something else… _hunger_.  
  
Merlin. She could barely breathe.  
  
Suddenly, with the tiniest flick of his wand, her bindings disappeared.  
  
But she stayed still. Frozen, as if by a spell.  
  
That young woman, this _Hermione Granger_ , or whatever her name was, had completely captivated him. His body wanted her. _He_ wanted her. He wanted to consume her, devour her- there, on that very spot. He wanted to taste her. And that scent, _her_ scent, it was driving him wild.  
  
Her lips were parted slightly, and she was sure he could hear how fast her heart was beating as it resounded in her own head, and that was without him even touching her!  
  
He had positioned himself over her, so that he wasn’t touching any part of her. His lean-body stretched over her, making her feel so much smaller, so much more vulnerable. He was on all fours; his legs either side of her, but not touching. His arms were braced against the bed as he leant over her. Not one part of him touched her, even brushed against her.  
  
And still, an energy thrummed between them.  
  
It was like an electric force, but it licked at her provocatively. She was looking up into his hungry, wanting eyes and it scared her that for even just a second, she was tempted by it.  
  
Hermione gasped at that sudden realisation and scrambled back, the non-existent spell breaking. Her head hit the pillow and then the old metal railings of the headboard. She winced at the pain in her arms now that she could move them. Her injured arm complained as she braced herself against the bed as it creaked slightly as she moved.  
  
Scabior let her move. Looked down at her. She was lying with her head touching the metal posts, her hair splayed out on the pillow beneath her. Her knees were up slightly, the heels of her boots pressed into the blanket; as though she was ready to spring away from him at any moment. And she was looking back up at him, waiting.  
  
He knew he was breathing heavily- probably frightening her. But he didn’t care. He couldn’t help it. And it was taking everything he had to stop himself from crashing his lips against hers and taking her right there and then.  
  
But it was clear she wasn’t one of those women. And he had a faint amount of respect for her for that… somewhere. Somewhere beneath the lust, the hunger and the wanting.  
  
Because Merlin, with her lying under him, so vulnerable like that. Merlin, how he wanted her.  
  
Hermione stared back at him, mind racing, but she had no idea what to do.  
  
And suddenly, in one swift movement, he had lunged forward towards her.  
  
She didn’t think as she let out a gasp of surprise. She held her hands out, pressing forcefully against his chest as she closed her eyes tightly, turning her face away. But then he stilled.  
  
Confused, she slowly opened her eyes and turned her head back to him. But this time she couldn’t look at his eyes. Her eyes fell against her splayed hands, her fingers pressed against his chest. Soft hair, toned muscle and tiny vibrations that ran through her fingers as he breathed. She swallowed hard as she felt his heart beneath her fingers. It was pounding fast beneath them, the blood rushing through his body.  
  
Her eyes travelled up, along the smatter of dark curls on his chest. She looked up, reaching his face, but this time, with him so close, she couldn’t look in his eyes. Her eyes lingered, gazing at his lips, which were only moments away.  
  
Her breathing was shallow, and she was sure he could hear it- the only noise in the otherwise silent room.  
  
His hands moved as she watched his lips. She didn’t notice until his hands wrapped around her wrists. She went to struggle again, but he stilled, just a whisper from her face.  
  
Still eager to taste her as he breathed her in.  
  
Scabior was suffocating on her, on his need for her. He breathed her in deeply, inhaled that scent that had haunted him for so long. The one that had made him hunt her. And now she was there, a hair’s breadth away. All because he didn’t want her to get cold in the bathroom.  
  
Hermione gazed up at his eyes as he stared at hers intently, as though he was silently questioning her. Asking her something. But she had no idea what the question was.  
  
Permission.  
  
It was something he’d never had to wait for before. But he was almost begging her for it. He probably would have been ashamed of himself, if his need weren’t raging, threatening to become evident to her.  
  
Slowly and silently he began to move Hermione’s arms. She couldn’t understand, didn’t understand, why she let him. She knew that snakes did this. They entranced their prey, controlled them, and lulled them before they struck.

Hermione almost whimpered as her sleeve rubbed against the wound, wincing, and a flicker of something in his eyes told her that he’d seen it.  
  
Suddenly he forced her hands together in one swift movement, moving to grip them in one hand. He pulled his wand from the waistband of his jogging bottoms and flicked it through the air. Abruptly ropes appeared, binding her wrists once again.  
  
She cried out in outrage; angry at him and angry at herself for being foolishly tricked into submission by him. As she struggled against him, he seemed careful to avoid pressing against her body. If she thought about it, it didn’t surprise her. He was a Snatcher and she was a _Mudblood_ after all. The searing pain in her arm told her so.  
  
Scabior leant forward, his face pressed against her soft curls, forcing her hands against the bedrails. He lingered there, breathing in that sweet, pure scent that reminded him of vanilla and innocence.  
  
Merlin.  
  
With a flick of his wand, she felt her bindings shift. She pulled furiously at them as his hands let go and gripped the pillow either side of her head. She glanced up at her hands, her wrists bound together and tied to one of the metal railings of the headboard.  
  
Hermione tried to fight her bindings, but could only do so weakly as her arm seared with pain every time she moved it. The metal railings she was now bound to rattled noisily before she stopped, her arm throbbing in pain. Her eyes on the other hand, were looking at his hand. At the one to her right, of her head, looking at the way it was fisted into the pillow.  
  
Hermione turned her head, his tangled, wild, brown hair brushed against her face. The scent of the forest. But he was still leaning into her, his head almost pressed into her shoulder as he inhaled deeply. She heard it. Felt the thrumming energy between them threatening to crack.  
  
All of a sudden, he turned. So slightly he turned his head towards her. Hermione felt his breath on the skin of her neck before he brushed his lips against it. His mouth covered the pulse point on her neck, sucking at it.  
  
Had she been able to, she knew she would have cried out. Her body jolted, as though hit by electricity. She felt his tongue licking at that one spot on her neck as she let out another unwitting gasp.  
  
As though the noise had awoken Scabior from the trance he was under, he chuckled; partly at her, but mostly at him. He gave one last, long lick up the side of her neck, before pulling back, his lips mere moments from hers.  
  
A ghost of a smile traced his lips as she stared back at him, something other than fear flitting through her eyes.  
  
And then he moved.  
  
And suddenly he was gone.  
  
Hermione remained pressed against the bed, breathing fast, her heart still pounding. Why did she feel his sudden absence like a loss? Why did she feel so strange? The energy took its time to ebb away, taking as long as her heart took to calm its rapid beatings.  
  
She looked up at him when he paused in the doorway, his hand on the doorframe. She looked up at him, confused. Confused by his actions but also by her body’s response.  
  
Silence stretched before them, before he turned, looking down at her and smiled.  
  
“Sweet Dreams.”  
  
And with that he left the room. Left her- lips still parted, heart still hammering inside her chest, staring after him as the bathroom door slammed shut.

 

A/N: Please let me know what you think in reviews/comments. It will be nice to have someone to talk to about my work again. Dragon Prints and Kudos are always appreciated.

Thank you Skye for always reading my chapters through x

 

 


	7. Curiosity

A/N new: In my original A/N our cat Hamlet said hi. He clambered over me pretty much the whole time I wrote this chapter. cheeky cat. We don’t have him anymore as he passed away but I wanted to include that in my A/N.  
  
Anyway, thank you soooo much for the kind reviews/comments! Seriously, I appreciate every one of them, and am grateful because I know it takes time and effort for you to leave them.  
Special thanks to WesleyY7 and AeraVale for your constant support, compliments and for reviewing after almost every chapter >_< It readers like you that I write for. Thank you so0o0o much everyone.   
  
Without further ado, here’s a loooooong chapter for you ^_^  
  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------  


Chapter Seven   
  
**Curiosity**  
  
Once Scabior had left the room, with the young woman tied on top of his bed, it took a lot longer than usual for his errant need to subside.  
  
Scabior had retreated to the bathroom, and it really wholly and honestly was a retreat, because he had to get away from her. Away from those cinnamon eyes, that sweet scent and heavenly soft curls.

He didn’t trust himself. He didn’t trust himself or her. Or more, the way she made him feel. The way she set his body alight with need and want and desire. All because she looked so vulnerable. So much like a scared, little rabbit, his cornered prey- because he was definitely the wolf in this scenario. He had never once forgotten it, never once believed otherwise. But back in that room, when normally he felt so in control, the control had begun to ebb away.  
  
And it was all because of her.  
  
That’s what he told himself, as his hand moved along the hard length he had tried to hide from her.  He was trying to rid himself of his wanton desire, bent over in the shower now, one hand pressed against the wall to take his weight. He kept his head down, confused by his body’s reaction to her.  
  
In one sense it wasn’t surprising, because she really was a beauty. It was surprising because normally it took much more than that to get him so wound up. Just being in her proximity had made his skin itch with the urge to touch her, to feel her skin on his. Not only that. She’d never made any move towards him. She’d never made any attempts to show her desire for him.  
  
And he was sure it was there, deep down… Maybe.  
  
Because he’d felt her shudder several times since he’d first caught her and not from the cold. He’d seen her eyes travel his body, linger in his gaze. Linger on his lips.  
  
So there had to be some desire there, surely?  
  
He frowned to himself. For what did he care? What did it matter? He was going to sell her, for a tidy little sum, and then he could go back to his usual routine of screwing whatever women crossed his path.  
  
But as he grunted, his seed spilling out into his hand, only to be washed away by the running water, all he could see was her.  
  
For Salazar’s sake. He just needed to get rid of her.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
Hermione was dancing. A huge smile had spread across her face as Harry began to twirl her beneath his arm. She giggled as he span under her arm next, turning her about as the both of them rotated on the spot.  
  
She’d always known that Harry was a good soul, a pure soul. But she’d never known he could be so utterly charming. He had seen her crying and she knew that he was doing this for her, for them. So that they could pick themselves up after how much Ron had hurt them, and then they would continue their mission.  
  
It really did rip at her heart though; that beautiful moment. For seconds, _mere seconds,_ she was smiling, and everything was okay. Merlin, she wanted that to be so true. But it wasn’t. Their moment was tainted with the painful realisation that Ron really had left them there. Their mission just seemed to spread out before them, endlessly. It was longer and harder than any of them could have imagined.  
  
But Harry span her around all the same, a light in his eyes as she smiled up at him. Harry echoed that smile, emerald green eyes shining back at her. She closed her eyes as he spun her under his arm and pulled her into him.  
  
Suddenly her body slammed against his. Only it wasn’t his. The body was broader, so much taller, and so much more terrifying. She looked up in horror to see those piercing blue-grey eyes staring down at her. The Snatcher. _Her_ Snatcher, and he was smirking down at her.   
  
Hermione went to pull away, but he still held her hand. She pulled and suddenly a searing pain made her cry out, made her stop and close her eyes… and when she opened them, things were different.  
  
Hermione was breathing heavily as she looked up at a cream, dirty coloured ceiling. She saw cobwebs in the corner above her and all she heard was her own panicked breathing as she tried to process what was happening.  
  
It had been a dream. She went to move, the pain in her arm tearing through her again, revealing why she had woken from her nightmare.  
  
But reality was so much worse.  
  
She was lying on top of the old, single bed. Her arms were still bound above her head, her wrists tied to the metal railings that ran along the headboard. There was a blanket over her, one that hadn’t been there when the Snatcher had left her in that room the night before.  
  
Hermione looked up, turned her head and jolted, startled as blue-grey eyes stared back at her. Just like in her nightmare.  
  
There, sat at the kitchen table, with a mug in his hand, was the Snatcher. She clenched her eyes shut at the pain that flooded her body as it had jerked in alarm. But opened them seconds after, she was determined not to show him pain or fear.  
  
Or at least she was trying not to.  
  
Because he was still staring straight at her.  
  
After his shower, Scabior had lingered in the bathroom, towel drying his hair and taking his time to brush his teeth. He wasn’t eager to return to the same predicament as before. He just had to keep reminding himself that she was his pay-cheque and nothing more.  
  
When he finally stepped out of the bathroom, clad once again in his jogging bottoms, he lingered at the doorway. He glanced down at the sleeping form on the bed. Her hair was splayed upon the pillow still, her knees bent, and her body twisted slightly. She looked uncomfortable.  
  
Scabior moved silently over to his armchair, content with sleeping there for the night. If he didn’t find a buyer in the morning, he would have to sort out some other form of sleeping arrangement.

But a few hours later he hadn’t slept at all. He just sat in dark, in the far corner of the room, staring at her.  
  
Finally he pulled one of the blankets he had returned from the bathroom with from the back of the armchair. The second blanket was wrapped around him. He got up quietly and spread the blanket out across the young woman’s sleeping form.  
  
She shifted slightly, and he stilled, looking down at her sleeping features. Long dark lashes twitched a little as she slept, hiding those fiery cinnamon eyes from the world. Her cheeks looked a little pink now. Less pale than they had looked in the bathroom. His fingers brushed, so slightly against them, felt that they were indeed warmer. He remained there longer than he should. Something about her had entranced him.  
  
He pulled himself away, hurrying back to the far corner of the room. He scolded himself silently, then berated himself again for caring whether he woke the little chit or not. He sighed heavily. She was more trouble than she was worth. He would have to hurry up and find a buyer for her.  
  
Scabior had slept for a while in the armchair, before getting up and dressing in his usual attire. It wasn’t like he had many clothes in his apartment anyway. He yanked on his plaid trousers, buckled up the studded belt and pulled on a clean black shirt- leaving only one other clean shirt remaining.  
  
He watched her as he pulled on his waistcoat, noticed she hadn’t moved at all. She must have been utterly exhausted. Though he wasn’t surprised, not after Bella’s treatment of her and then him leaving her to freeze in the bathroom half the night.  
  
No. He’d let her sleep. It was far less complicated that way anyway.  
  
So, he sat, his legs up on the table, reading the latest Daily Prophet that had flown through his door. He would make sure to dispose of it before his captive found it, as the articles revealed more than he was willing to.  
  
_Undesirable Number One still on the loose. Ministry seeks information._  
  
He chuckled lowly to himself. So, the dunder heads had managed to escape. He had to admit he was surprised. They had looked like total blockheads, but somehow it appeared that they had escaped the manor and its occupants.  
  
He would have to be careful, even if the Death Eaters weren’t aware of his actions yet- and he didn’t know if they knew or not- Potter and his friend might. He had shoved the red head away from her after all. He must have realised that he’d taken her.   


Scabior wondered if they would waste time trying to find her, or continue with whatever the hell they were doing in the forest in the first place? Running and hiding probably.  
  
He got to his feet and headed to the hallway. He paused as he passed the bed, looking at her again. But she didn’t stir. He set some charms up around the apartment and locked the door as he left the apartment.

He apparated, reappearing a short way from his destination. The alleys twisted and turned as he stuck to the back alleys, stuck to the shadows in the dim morning light. Until he could gather more information about the Death Eaters and whether he was a suspect or not, he would have to stay invisible.  
  
Scabior hurried into a darkened store, eager to speak to the wizened old man behind the counter. There wasn’t much information that the old wizard could give him. Luckily Scabior discovered that the manor’s occupants had no idea how the ‘ _Granger girl’_ had escaped. As for her two boyfriends, apparently, they had been aided by a house-elf. The same one that had dropped the chandelier and given him his chance to grab her, probably.

After a few minutes of questioning Scabior was sure he had all the information the old guy could give him, so he returned home quickly. Didn’t want to leave her alone for too long. He’d heard that she was smart, and the old guy he’d spoken to had only reinforced this opinion of her. Apparently the Mudblood was very gifted magically. He’d be careful to keep a wand out of her hands.   
  
Scabior apparated back to just outside the apartment, carefully waiting to see if anyone was lurking about. When he got inside, he turned to look at her from the hallway, locking the door both physically and magically. She was still sleeping, still lying in the same position. Merlin, he hoped the little thing was okay?  
  
But he had things to do and before long he had almost forgotten she was there. He counted the last of his money; barely enough for him to eat for a couple of days, at a push. Though he didn’t know what to do about having to feed her. He sighed as he set to magically washing his dirty clothes. She was going to be a pain in the arse.  
  
At around lunchtime he was sat, drinking more tea and reading through the last of the Prophet’s articles when he heard movement. He turned, reminded of her existence as she rolled over slightly on the bed. He turned back to his paper.  
  
The rustling of the blanket again.  
  
He looked up to watch as she tossed and turned, her mouth opening and closing as she called out silently.  
  
_No,_ and _Harry,_ were the only words he could make out.  
  
He flicked his wand at the paper, setting it alight in mid-air, before turning fully in his chair to look at her. She was obviously having a nightmare. The only problem was that he didn’t know what he should do. Should he wake her? Ignore her? Hope that she would settle and return to her restful slumber?  
  
But the problem was solved as she thrashed against her bindings, her body jolting, her mouth opening in a silent cry. He supposed it must be a mixture of her injuries. The assault Lestrange had carried out upon her must have left her body bruised and aching. And there was that wound on her arm after all.  
  
Scabior stared at her, holding a breath and then berating himself for it. He watched as her eyes flashed open, full of pain and then full of confusion. Then she turned her head. Fear.  
  
Fear filled her eyes as she spotted him, and it made something within him stir. He really didn’t like her looking at him like that. He didn’t like that she was so fearful of him. He wasn’t a monster after all.  
  
_No. Just a Snatcher, who would sell her life away for his next meal._  
  
He watched her try to blink her pain away before she stared defiantly back at him. She was such a strong and feisty girl…  and kind of stupid in that respect. Gryffindor bravado. What good did it do her?   
  
They sat in silence, just staring for a further few moments, time stretching uncomfortably between them. She could say nothing, and he had nothing to say.  
  
Suddenly he flicked his wand and Hermione cringed again, waiting. Always expecting more pain. But to her surprise her bindings disappeared. She blinked once in surprised before hurriedly moving to sit up.  
  
But she had to close her eyes again. Moving her arms from the position above her head down to her side was painful. Her body ached terribly from how she’d slept, but it was nothing like the agony caused by the injury Bellatrix had carved into her arm. It felt like sharp shards of glass were slicing through her nerve endings. She could barely move her fingers.  
  
But Hermione made the most of her bindings having gone. She sat up, prepared to run if she had to- where to, she had no idea. She glared at the Snatcher in front of her; she still didn’t know his name and for some unfathomable reason it irritated her.  
  
Scabior merely pointed towards the bathroom and she took the hint in a moment. He watched as she hurried through to the bathroom and he waited, wand in hand. He kept his ears strained, listening for any sound that she was attempting to escape.   
  
Hermione hurried into the bathroom, bolting the door as soon as she was inside, knowing it wouldn’t do much to keep him out.  She rushed over to try the tiny, drafty window, which was no easy feat considering she couldn’t raise her injured arm. Her uninjured arm ached as she raised it above her head, standing on tip toe to reach the handle on the window. Unfortunately, and as expected, she found it locked both physically and magically.

Hermione bit down on her bottom lip as she looked around helplessly. She sank down onto the toilet seat and let her head hang, her hair falling and framing her face. She had no idea how to get herself out of this mess. She had to though. She had to find Harry and Ron. After a few moments of self-pity, she looked up again, getting to her feet. She would figure something out. She _had_ to.

Hermione made the most of being able to use the facilities as quickly as she could. Quite frankly she didn’t trust that the Snatcher wouldn’t just barge his way in there, no matter what she was doing. She then turned to wash at the sink. She splashed water on her face using her good hand, lathering up the soap, grateful for it. She was considering trying to clean the slices in the skin of her arm when there came a knock at the bathroom door, hurrying her.  
  
She rinsed the soap from her face, unable to clean the wound on her arm as he knocked again, more impatiently. She had the horrified idea that if she didn’t hurry, he would _alohomora_ his way inside and drag her out of there. No matter what pain she was in.   
  
Hermione reluctantly walked over to the bathroom door, gritting her teeth as she slid the bolt across and opening the door to stare daggers at him. And still the silence stretched between them.  
  
The Snatcher motioned for her to return to the other room but caught her glancing at the front door. He reached out, about to rest his hand on her shoulder and lead her into the room. Hermione growled out silently, still under the silencing charm, and struggled out from under him as his hand fell on her shoulder. She didn’t want him to touch her.  
  
His touch confused her.  
  
Hermione walked obediently back into the main room and he motioned for her to sit on the bed again. Her shoulders sagged and her eyes fell downcast. She was going to be tied up again, and there was nothing she could do about it. That was the worst thing about this whole situation- the total lack of control.  
  
When she sat back down on the bed, Scabior saw that she was looking at the floor, looking more exhausted than before she went to sleep. That feeling in the pit of his stomach roiled again, feeling too much like guilt. Too much like something he shouldn’t be feeling. Shouldn’t know _how_ to feel.  
  
Scabior noticed that she wasn’t moving her arm. She was holding it awkwardly, trying not to knock it against any part of her body. The guilt rose further.  
  
He sat back down in his previous seat and regarded her again. This time the Granger girl kept her eyes from his, her messy hair hiding her face slightly. She had bed head hair. He had to shake the thought from his head, lest his thoughts wandered further.   
  
Finally, he spoke.  
  
“If I remove the spell, will yer promise not to say tha’ name?” The Snatcher’s smooth voice broke the silence, making her heartbeat quicken. He was of course, referring to Lord Voldemort’s name; the taboo curse word. She nodded quickly, eager to have her voice back, even if it was just to scream at him.  
  
He murmured the counter curse and Hermione took in a deep breath of relief. And then, as though to test it, she spoke.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
_Thank you?! Don’t thank him! He’s the one that kidnapped you and placed the silencing charm on you in the first place!_  
  
She was inwardly horrified that the first thing she had done was thank him, after everything he’d done. But she countered her own argument, reminding herself that he wanted her to use manners. If she was polite, she might get somewhere with him.  
  
Or at least keep on his good side.  
  
The Snatcher himself seemed surprised at her words. His eyebrows raised in surprise before he covered himself, returning his usual smirk to his features.  
  
“So…” He spoke, ending the stretch of surprise and shock that spanned between the two of them. “Miss _Granger,_ is it?”  
She was equally shocked at his use of manners. For a moment she couldn’t speak, but then she licked her dry lips and replied.  
“Yes.”  
  
It was a breathy reply. Not as loud or as strong as she wanted it to be. Quiet, like her first comment.  
  
“Would yer like a drink? Only if yer keep it in the cup this time mind.” He asked her, and she regarded him for a moment before nodding.  
“Please.” Her lips were dry and her throat sore. She supposed it was from the silent screams she had let out every time she hurt her already injured arm.  
  
At her answer, the Snatcher waved his wand behind him, muttering something and the kettle floated over to the sink as the tap turned on. Hermione noted that he seemed to be good at charms. She wasn’t eager to discover what other areas he was magically gifted in.   
  
Silence again for a moment. Hermione stared at him as he observed her, his eyes assessing. Meanwhile behind him, the kitchen items busily set to boiling the old whistling kettle. Two mugs flew from the broken cupboard, settling on the kitchen unit. The small fridge below the counter opened to reveal the almost bare shelves. It contained nothing but milk, a bottle of beer and- from the smell- rotten vegetables.

“So, Miss Granger….” he began. “What were yer doin’ roamin’ about in the woods eh?” His words led Hermione to remember his previous comment about bumping into a wolf. And she well and truly had, hadn’t she?  
  
Hermione looked back at him taking in his appearance- he looked cleaner. She tried to think of what to say, because she couldn’t tell him the truth.

_Think Hermione._

But her brain felt slow and sluggish whilst she was in his gaze. It was endlessly distracting, piercing into her even when she looked away.   
  
“We were trying to hide from you.” She decided in the end. It seemed the best answer she could think of. Suitably elusive but still giving him an answer to the question. “From you and the other Snatchers.” She added, realising she had referred only to him, and his head had tilted as he watched her lie. Her mind flashed back to that morning in the woods, when he had pinned her to the tree, and forcefully kissed her.  
  
She shifted uncomfortably for a moment, turned her head away and tried to escape his gaze.  
  
“Of course.” He murmured evenly, a chuckle in his voice. She saw him nod from the corner of her eye. He finally shifted his eyes from her to look at the floor. He was smiling she noticed, as she turned back, lips parted as she watched his reaction.  
  
“And yer thought the forest would be safe?” He almost sniggered, seemed to sneer at her as he lifted his head. She merely stared back at him, her brow furrowing slightly as she tried to keep her chin high. She wouldn’t let him ridicule her.  
  
He chuckled at that, quietly, as though more to himself than at her.  
  
“It was… until you came along.”

Hermione didn’t realise that she’d spoken until the last word left her lips.  
  
Silence again, as he watched her, and she watched him. Her head was spinning, whirring with questions, but she knew it wouldn’t bode well to ask any of them. Mostly she wanted to know where Harry and Ron were. Were they safe? Where were they now and were they trying to find her?  
  
Part of her hoped they were, the selfish part. The other part told her to shut up hoping. They had the Wizarding World on their shoulders and all wizardkind to save. So that part of her hoped that they had carried on with their quest. They couldn’t waste any more time.  
  
The other major question, constantly bubbling to the surface, was what was he going to do with her? Now he had her there, what was the plan? But that question scared her. It made something in the pit of her stomach squirm. Made the blood rush beneath her skin. Something instinctual was wary of the answer to that question and so she didn’t think she wanted to know.

  
And of course, she still didn’t know his name.

A high-pitched whistling startled her before she realised it was the kettle on the stove. It shook her from her thoughts, from her unasked questions as she turned back to him again.  
  
“Ah, once again I become the big bad wolf.” He taunted, turning and getting to his feet to pour the now boiling water into the two mugs, already prepared with tea bags. “Milk?” he asked her, and she nodded. “Got no sugar.”

The whistle of the kettle died, and he busily prepared the tea before continuing.   
  
“But if I’m the big bad wolf, how comes I saved yer from the real monsters ey Princess? ‘Cause if you think _I’m_ bad, I could have left yer with Lestrange.”  
  
Scabior watched her eyes widen and darken and he was sure she was remembering the hours of torture she had endured. He remembered the screams echoing, bouncing off the tall walls of the Malfoy’s manor. Still he didn’t know why it bothered him so much. Torture in that hellhole was normal after all. As normal as breathing as far as that crazy Lestrange woman was concerned.

No. It hadn’t been his first visit to that dark place. Despite the richness, the grandeur of that building, there was a haunting and sinister darkness that tainted the place. It was a beautiful shell that hid nothing but depravity and torment.

Scabior had been there on occasion, when the Lestrange woman was bored. He’d been there when Greyback had eaten his fill. He had his own memories of that dreadful domicile. In that moment she wasn’t alone in remembering her screams of pain.

Still she said nothing, seemingly stuck in that horrific memory.  
  
“Still, do I get a thank you? No. I get a kick in the shin.” He spoke to break that silence, stop the memories. He referred, of course, to the previous night when she had kicked out at him in the bathroom.

Scabior picked up one of the mugs, holding it out to her, holding his wand ready in the other hand. When he looked at her, she was looking up at him, looking surprised by what he’d said.  
  
Hermione was so stuck in the memory of Bellatrix casting the cruciatus curse on her that she started when he spoke, realising the close proximity he was in. She realised what he had said and furrowed her brow slightly in confusion. He wanted thanks?  
  
She took the tea slowly and carefully, seeing the steam coming from the top of the green mug. He waved his wand warningly, but she had no intention of trying to throw it at him again. At least not yet anyway.  
  
Maybe she should thank him? If only for the tea. He could take it as he wanted. Take it as thanks that he’d taken her from the manor. Taken her from Ron, from Harry, she thought bitterly. But then she flashed back to the pain again, flashed back to Bellatrix announcing that she could be _disposed of_ … that Greyback could have her.  
  
“Thank you.” Hermione breathed quickly, blinking in surprise at her words, before wanting to kick herself for them. He blinked back at her before stepping away, back to his own cup of tea on the kitchen side.  


“You’re welcome Princess.” Scabior said as he settled into his seat again. He rested his wand hand on the table, the wand still in his hand in case she decided to throw the hot tea in his face again. However, this Granger woman seemed to have no intention of it. She seemed a little more docile today, a little more subdued. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not.   
  
Hermione blew at the steaming liquid, questions whirring, her head screaming at her for her foolish actions. She’d _thanked_ him!   
  
Hermione glanced up, studying him over the top of her tea. He had turned slightly, placing his mug on the table, glancing at the window as he did so. His legs were parted casually, in that typical male stance. He had long legs, she noted- currently clad in plaid trousers- which ended in a pair of thick, grey socks. He looked content almost, lounging languidly before her, completely unfazed by her presence.  
  
Her presence was bothering him.  
  
Scabior didn’t know what to do with her. He had merely planned as far as grabbing her, taking her and selling her. He hadn’t planned for this awkwardness in between business.  
  
“There’s nothin’ to eat by the way.” He suddenly spoke, ending the silence as he turned back to her. “I did warn yer yesterday.” But although Hermione was hungry, she was pretty sure she wouldn’t have managed to eat a thing anyway. Not with all these concerns whirling around her head, and this pain from her arm.   
  
Hermione nodded in reply as those piercing eyes returned their gaze to her. He was looking her up and down. She glanced down at her bloody, light brown zip-up jumper. Beneath it she wore a baby-blue t-shirt which she was sure was just as stained with blood as her jumper. Finally, her eyes raked over her mucky jeans, covered with mud from the forest.  
   
Horrified for a moment by the state of herself Hermione had to scold herself. What did it matter _what_ she looked like in front of this man?  
  
Hermione realised suddenly that she had been wearing her coat in the manor, but now had no idea of its whereabouts. Then she realised that her bag was also missing. She wanted to know where they were but knew she’d have to add it to the mounting number of questions piling up inside her head.

   
Scabior couldn’t help but smirk slightly at the clothing she was wearing. Most of it was baggy and unflattering. He had seen her in nothing but her pyjamas; he had traced the shape of her body. She should be wearing clothes to compliment her figure, not to drown it. Merlin, he was going to have to get her a different outfit before he could show her to any prospective clients.  
  
Slightly disgruntled by the look he was giving her, Hermione scowled at him and continued to sip at her tea. He laughed out loud then, leaning back in his chair, his long legs spread out before him.  
  
“My, my, yer really don’t like me, do you?” He chuckled.

  
“No. I don’t.” She replied, uncaring about how he would react to that. She wasn’t about to lie about that. She would let him know how very much she hated him, for parting her from her friends. For parting her with her mission, and for the incident in the forest.  
  
“Aw come now, I’m not that bad.”

He seemed to find it all very amusing. His eyes were glinting, and she had to fight the urge to throw her mug of tea in his annoyingly handsome, smirking face.  
  
“Yes. You are.” Hermione replied flatly and she saw the amusement fall from her eyes slightly. The smirk remained but that glint disappeared.

  
“Why do you think that?” He questioned her.  
  
She stared at him. Kept her face blank, but couldn’t believe his audacity, couldn’t believe he was really asking her that. That he didn’t realise.  
  
“I’d say your actions in the forest were bad enough to warrant me hating you.” She told him, matter-of-factly.  
  
She started as he rose to his feet, in a smooth motion. She was trying to read that expression on his face, but he was guarded, a mask in place of where humour had just been. She had to remind herself to hold onto her mug as she shifted slightly, ready to run if she had to.  
  
“Why? Was that really so bad?” His voice was quieter, and it made her all the more nervous. He moved too fast. Before she realised, he was beside her in seconds, one hand grabbing a handful of her hair.  
  
Hermione dropped her mug of tea then, the mug rolled on the floor for a moment, a puddle of tea now adding to the stains on the wooden flooring. He pulled back on her hair and she was surprised when it wasn’t so forceful that it hurt. She tried to lean back as he held her there; head back, baring her exposed neck to him.  
  
Then she felt his breath on her neck, her own breath hitching. His lips ghosted over her skin as he spoke.  


“Was it really so bad?” Scabior questioned again, breathing in that heavenly scent. “Was it really so bad that yer would rather be ‘anded over to Greyback, than stay wit’ me?”  
  
Because it really had bothered him that day, when she had cried out to be handed over to that monster.  
  
The young woman whimpered, and he moved, his spare hand stroking upwards along her neck. His fingers caressed that expanse of creamy, soft skin. His hand stilled, holding the back of her neck, his thumb stroking her cheek.  
  
“Well?” The Snatcher murmured. His breath danced over her skin, making her shiver as she kept her lips clamped together, kept her eyes shut. “’Cause I really don’t think it would ‘ave been a bad trade… A little bit of _fun…_ ”

Suddenly his hand moved from her neck to her waist, lowering her back onto the bed as he braced himself above her, his other hand still in her hair. She swallowed, couldn’t breathe. She felt one of his knees move to the bed by her hips. The other pressed against her legs, which were still dangling off the edge of the bed where she had been sitting.  
  
Hermione kept her eyes closed. Tried to turn her head to the side but his grip in her hair was too tight. She felt him move closer to her, his breath still on her neck. Slowly his tongue traced up her neck, so lightly, tauntingly. Merlin, she really couldn’t breathe. She could only shiver and try her best to keep that whimper, that gasp from escaping her mouth.

She was suffocating on that crackling energy between them. The one that was tingling her skin. It was heavy in the air around them.  
  
His hand caressed her waist, before he moved his hand up, to rest on the bed beside her head, giving him something to lean on as he whispered into her ear.  
  
“A little bit of fun, in exchange for your freedom…”   
  
_What?_  
  
“And you chose Greyback.” His words were sharp, cutting through the tension.  
  
So suddenly he was gone.

The Snatcher had straightened and was returning to his seat at the kitchen table as she lay there, frozen. Her chest rose and fell heavily as her heartbeat fought to return to normal. The energy that had risen with his proximity began to ebb, made it easier for her to catch her breath.   
  
_What? What had he just said?_  
  
Because it certainly sounded like he was saying that he would have let her go free that day, in exchange for just a bit of _fun._ _So, he was trading sex for freedom? Was that his occupation? But then she realised,_ he hadn’t taken her to Greyback that first time. He hadn’t handed her over. He had merely stood, looked down at her crying form, and walked away.  
  
Was that how he normally worked? Did he usually let the women go free in exchange for… well, she wouldn’t have submitted to him anyway. She _still_ wouldn’t now.  
  
Hermione sat up slowly, looking at the man that was now occupying himself with his own drink, whilst cleaning up hers from the floor. Her mug flew into the sink with a wave of his wand whilst she sat, trying to calm her beating heart.  
  
“Is that what you normally do?” Hermione finally managed to breathe.  
  
“Hmm?” He asked, a mouthful of tea.  
  
“You normally trade… _sex_ … for freedom?” She questioned him, and he turned back to look at her with a wolfish grin on his face.  
  
“Yeah, and I don’t normally have to suggest it.” He winked at her before taking another gulp of tea.  
  
Hermione stared at him. He was handsome she supposed, there was no doubt about that. But did the women he caught _really_ just throw themselves at him?  
  
“That’s why you walked away? Because I didn’t want…” She trailed off, voicing her thoughts out loud. She wished she hadn’t opened her mouth. Because again, she hadn’t realised that she was speaking until she heard herself.  
  
He made a non-committal grunting noise, but she knew it was acknowledgment. That it was a yes. She almost wanted to sob with a mixture of anger and relief. Because she had been so terrified that day, and he had seemed so nonplussed until the end. Until she had cried at him to hand her over to the werewolf.  
  
He had given her freedom free of charge.  
  
She almost wanted to thank him. But didn’t. Because it wasn’t the point. He shouldn’t have assumed and he shouldn’t be snatching people in the first place.  
  
_And don’t forget, you’re not free anymore.  
_  
“Why won’t you just let me go?” She finally questioned him. Her voice was too quiet, too feeble. It needed to be stronger. _She_ needed to be stronger.  


“B’cause I need the money.” The Snatcher replied blankly, and Hermione felt any hopes that she’d been holding onto beginning to ebb away. She’d just have to escape. But how? And what was he planning on doing with her in the meantime? Who was he planning on selling her to?

The tumultuous thoughts were revolving in her mind as she fidgeted in her seat, wishing she had the answers in true Hermione fashion. She hissed as she moved her injured arm, her jumper rubbing on the cuts that it had stuck to in the night.  
  
“Let’s ‘ave a look at that arm then, shall we?” He asked, as he got to his feet once again. She looked up in surprise at him as he approached. She edged back instinctively. “Unless you want me to leave it?” He paused, his eyebrows raised, looking suitably miffed, and not too unlike the morning she had refused him.  
  
“N-no.” Hermione stuttered, knowing that the injury would only worsen with time if left untreated.  
  
He sat down on the bed beside her and she couldn’t help but shift over from him, leaning away slightly. Though, whether he noticed or not he didn’t show it.  
  
Hermione looked down at her arm as he reached out to hold her wrist, raising her arm slightly with one hand. With the other hand, his deft digits reached out to the sleeve of her jumper that had slipped over half her wound in the night. The crimson letters spelling; _lood,_ shone back at her, the gouges deep and enflamed.   
  
Scabiot knew it was going to be sore; he glanced at her as he lifted part of the offending garment, revealing the letter _b_. As he’d predicted, the fabric of her sleeve stuck to the bloody injury and her body jolted as she cried out, before clamping her lips together.  
  
Scabior glanced over at her as she closed her eyes, bracing herself for more pain. He pulled back the garment as quickly and carefully as he could. But he could see how red and enflamed the wound was. He was certain that Bellatrix had used one of her cursed blades. She did so enjoy inflicting pain on others and that woman did so like her toys. Knives appeared to be a favourite of hers.   
  
Dark dried blood spelt out the word; Mudblood. The first four letters were bleeding again now, a trail of blood trickling slowly down her arm. The word was a bright shade of liquid red at the beginning of the word, the rest of it darker but becoming coated in the fluid crimson.

Scabior could tell from experience that it was becoming infected. He waved his wand over her arm, ignoring how she flinched again. One hand held her wrist, his rough fingers on her soft skin. But as he muttered the only pathetic healing charm he knew, nothing happened.

Hermione blinked down at her arm and then up at him. She had to silently question if he even knew how to cast a healing spell. The one he’d chosen, the Sano healing charm, was a very basic one and yet when he had cast it, nothing had happened.

“Shit.” The Snatcher muttered. “Bella does like her toys.” He muttered to himself, leaving Hermione to frown up at him in confusion. He caught a glance of her before explaining. “She likes to play with hexed blades. I’m bettin’ this one’s cursed so that magic can’t heal yer.”

Hermione swallowed. That meant they’d have to treat it the muggle way. The longer and slower way. This was going to hurt.  
  
“Ah, now see, if you’d behaved yerself to begin with, we could have done somthin’ about this much sooner.” His smooth voice was half taunting her, but there was also something else. It sounded softer, like he was trying to reassure her almost.  
  
She whimpered as he ran a finger lightly over the M, trying to wipe away some of the fluff that had stuck from her jumper.  
  
“Now, the problem we ‘ave ‘ere, is that I don’t have any potions to numb the pain, an’ I can’t afford t’buy ‘em either.” He thought to himself for a moment before murmuring to himself. “Doubt they’d work anyway.”

He still held her wrist in his hand as he turned to talk to her. There was something so close to kindness in his eyes that it made her heart beat faster. She never seemed to know what to expect from him.   
  
“We can leave it t’become infected, _or_ we can do what I normally do. It’s a much cheaper way of cleaning it… but you’re not gonna like it.”

Hermione whimpered in reply as he picked another bit of fluff from her burning arm.

  
“W-what do you normally do?” She asked quietly. Because she didn’t like the sound of this one bit. He regarded her silently for a moment, those eyes piercing her very being.  


“How’s about you just trust me?” This time he spoke quieter, more sincerely. Had she been any less guarded, had she been anyone else, she might have believed that sincerity to be real. But she didn’t and she very much doubted it. Most of all, of course, she did not trust him.  
  
But then, what choice did she have?  
  
“Stay there a moment.” Scabior didn’t know why he said it, because it wasn’t like she could really go anywhere. Something inside him was twisting uncomfortably, because he didn’t really want to do this. However, the only other option was to leave the wound to get infected. With the little resources he had, she may very well end up ill from it.   
  
Scabior grabbed a flask from the inside pocket of his coat, which was hung up in the hall along with hers. He turned back, looking at her as she sat on the bed, waiting uncomfortably and watching him. He looked down at her feet, remembering the night before.  
  
It might be best if he removed her boots first. The last thing he needed was another kick to the shin.  
  
When he had walked back into the room he crouched down in front of her and began to pull at her laces, yanking one of her boots off quickly, before turning to the other.  
  
“What are you doing?” She questioned in confusion, pulling her legs away from his hands. Why did he need to take her boots off to treat her arm? But he ignored her, grabbing her booted foot and pulling it closer to him so that he could tug at the laces again. He yanked one boot off, and then the other and still Hermione looked down at him in bewilderment. He straightened once again, only after he’d thrown her boots into the hall.  
  
“Right love, now lie on the bed.”  
  
Hermione’s eyes widened and she bolted, jumping to her feet. The Snatcher hurriedly held his hands up in a sign of surrender.  
“No funny business,” he said loudly. “I promise.”  
  
Hermione stood for a moment, frowning at him, regarding him and questioning what to do. She had to question what a Snatcher’s promise was even worth. He stepped away from her, moving to the sink whilst he waited, patiently for to decide what to do. He washed his hands, a grave look on his face, but not directed at her.

What else could she do? It wasn’t like she had many options. She had enough problems without adding an infection to the list and she got the impression that the Snatcher felt the same way too.

Finally, reluctantly, Hermione moved to lie rigidly on the bed.  
  
“Right, lie down with your arm outstretched to the side like that.” He instructed as he came back over to her. He lifted his arm, the flask still in his hand, demonstrating what he wanted her to do. He didn’t miss the flicker of pain in her eyes, and swallowed, his mouth dry at knowing what was to come.

“Now shuffle over so that your arm forearm ent on the bed.” Scabior corrected her, trying to position her how he needed her without their skin touching.   
  
The young woman shuffled over; her arm stretched out to her side, stopping once her forearm was hanging limply off the edge of the bed, parallel with the floor. She frowned worriedly up at him, before he moved onto the bed.  
  
All of a sudden, he had straddled her. She sat bolt upright in alarm, trying to push at him with her uninjured arm, but he pushed her back against the bed.  
  
“I told yer, no funny business.”

He tried to reassure her but was doing nothing of the kind. Hermione’s heart was racing, and she was trying to ignore the heat of his body on hers.  
  
Scabior was straddling her hips, kneeling with his legs either side of her. He was careful not to put his full weight on her, but enough to hold her down. He had to remind himself of what he was doing, and why, because the heat rose from her body into his and it was suddenly difficult to ignore.  
  
“I’m warnin’ yer now sweetheart… This is gonna hurt.” Her eyes were fearful and the worry was plastered on her face as she lay there, waiting for him. Scabior noted how his voice sounded almost worried, almost kind. She nodded in acknowledgement. “Now, I’m gonna do this as quick as I can. Ready?”  
  
Because he really didn’t want to do it at all. He already felt guilty. Now he almost felt sick. Scabior put his left hand down on her injured arm at the crook of her elbow. He gripped it tightly, pressed it down against the mattress. With his other hand he put the metal flask to his lips and used his teeth to pull the stopper out with a pop.  
  
“Deep breath, love.” The Snatcher murmured and she did as she was told, closing her eyes, trying to brace herself. Nothing could have braced her for the pain that hit her. She felt the first drops of liquid burning into her arm, and she whimpered loudly, tried to keep her lips together. But the burning rose until it felt like her entire arm was on fire.  
  
It felt like fire was burning through her very muscle, like she was being stabbed as well as burnt. Hermione couldn’t help herself. Her scream ripped from her throat, and it was all she heard as she shifted, trying to escape from beneath him. She tried to pull her arm away, but his grip at her elbow was too tight, pinning it to the bed. She tried to shift her body, writhing in agony beneath him, but his weight kept her pinned down beneath him as she kicked and thrashed about violently. She pushed and pulled and hit and pinched at him with her free arm, trying to make it stop.  
  
He hated it.  
  
From the moment he slowly and carefully poured the alcohol on the M of her injury, careful to make sure the liquid coated all of it, he wanted to stop. It didn’t bother him that she was clawing at him, grabbing at his sleeve and scratching at his arm. He just focused on pouring the liquid over the next letter, trying to be a quick as he could.  
  
But her screams…

He felt sick, and like something was ripping away inside of him. He knew how much this hurt, knew how much pain she’d already been in. How much worse he made it. And now he knew he was making her hurt so much more. But it had to be done.  
  
She was crying, her shrieks and screams unending with each, everlasting moment of searing pain. It felt like it was never going to end. Her tears ran down her face unbidden, but she didn’t notice them. She only noticed the agony. As he rubbed his thumb over one of the cuts, trying to rub some fluff and dirt from it she let out an almighty shriek.

“Stop! Stop! Please, please stop!”

_Make him stop! Get him off! Make it stop!_

The Granger girl cried, over and over and over again as he tried to clean the slices in her skin with his thumb. Her punches barely moved him as he focused intently on the job at hand. He had to. Had to do something to try and drown her screams out.

Hermione gulped air into her lungs, only to empty them with screams and shrieks and pleading. She felt like she was back on the floor of Malfoy Manor, screaming as Bellatrix Lestrange had sliced into her arm. Maybe she still _was_ in Malfoy Manor? What if this was all a strange and innocuous dream? What if she was still lying on that marble floor, the cold sinking into her body even while she twitched and convulsed and sweated from the force of the cruciatus curse?

No. No she couldn’t be, because when she looked up through her tears, she saw him. The Snatcher.  
She looked up at the blurry figure above her, saw the frown upon his face as she reached out to try and claw at it. But he dodged her attack easily, his eyes never leaving the cuts on her arm as he poured more alcohol over them.

Hermione closed her eyes tight, her back arching up into him, as the pain seemed to spread from her arm into every inch of her body. It was like her nerve endings were on fire and she let the shriek rip from her throat, because there was no way for her to stop it.  
  
Scabior wondered for a moment if she was going to pass out. Not that he’d be surprised if she did. The wound ran the length of her forearm, and he had to wash every bit of fluff and dirt away from it. He shouldn’t have left it this damn long to treat it. He grit his teeth in frustration at himself, concentrating on cleaning her arm as quickly and carefully as he could.  
  
He kept glancing down at her as he hurriedly poured the last of the alcohol over her wound. The whole thing had only lasted moments, but he knew to her it would have felt like eternity. It almost felt just as long to him, because every one of those screams had hit him, almost painfully.  
  
Hermione couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe through the pain, through the sobs. She tried to drag in another gulp of air but let it go too soon as she shook, sobbing. Her arm itself was almost numb beneath the pain. It felt like she didn’t even have an arm anymore, like all she had was excruciating pain, in the place her arm had once been.  
  
As she cried, still shrieking and screaming, she fought him. Then her head began to spin, the world was spinning like she was on a merry-go-round. She remembered lying on one in a muggle playground once. Her father had spun it whilst she and her mum had laid down on it, hanging on for dear life. Now she was lying on a Snatcher’s bed, watching as the ceiling spun and the only thing she was holding onto was him. Her hand was fisted into his shirt, gripping it tightly. Godric help her, she had to make it stop!

Scabior finally and thankfully finished pouring the burning liquid on her raw skin. All that was left was the sound of her sobs as she tried to quieten herself. He looked down at her, his insides twisted tightly, uncomfortable. He leant down closer to her. Didn’t know how to help.   
  
Hermione began to notice through her sobs that he was stroking her hair, whispering soothingly at her. Just this once she let herself take comfort from his kindness. She let him stroke her hair and shush at her pacifyingly. It wasn’t like she could do anything about it anyway. Surprisingly, it comforted her more than it should have done.

As the pain ebbed and her vision and her vision cleared, Hermione gazed up at him. Her chest was still rising and falling rapidly, tears still rolling down her cheeks, but silently now. He moved his hand to cup the side of her face.

Scabior’s thumb moved over those salty tears, wiping them from her otherwise pale skin. She had gone so ghostly white. Her screams so raw, and she had fought against him so desperately. He was bound to have scratches on his neck and bruises on his arm and chest, but he didn’t care. As stupid as it was, knowing he was going to sell her on as soon as he could, he hoped he never had to put her through that again.  
  
The Granger woman was still panting slightly, still lying beneath him as his thumb stroked at her cheek. She closed her eyes, two more rogue tears rolling silently away into her hair. He had let go of her arm, but she couldn’t move. Didn’t even want to contemplate it yet. The Snatcher had to know, had to understand how much it had hurt, because in between the screams, the blurred vision and the many tears, she’d seen him looking down at her. Concern had laced his features, concern, focus and care.  
  
So maybe he really wasn’t so bad after all?  
  
“There,” Scabior was still murmuring to her softly. “It’s over now. Just lie there for a bit… The pain will lessen soon enough.” He really wasn’t paying any attention to what he was saying. His attention was on her, on those tears, on the way her chest rose, on the way she closed her eyes and seemed to relax slightly into his hand.  
  
His left hand stroked her cheek, his right hand stroked her hair, and he glanced over at her arm for a moment, as the redness seemed to gleam back at him.  
  
Salazar’s snakes, that had to sting.  
  
“H-have you… f-finished?”

Hermione whispered feebly, checking; because she didn’t think she could bear anymore. She opened her eyes to see genuine care shimmering in the blue-grey seas of his own.  
  
“Yeah,” he replied softly. “Yeah all finished.” But he didn’t move. He was still above her, still distracted by the heat of her slender body, but more so by the pain in her eyes. He hated how much that had hurt her, and it bothered him again, because he really shouldn’t care.  
  
“What’s your name?”  
  
It was barely a whisper that escaped her lips as she stared up at him. Her eyes were wet, her hair soaked with tears as she felt the pain ebbing away more and more with every minute- just as he’d said.  
  
It surprised him for a minute that she even cared to ask, and then he couldn’t believe that he hadn’t told her already.  
  
“Scabior.”  
  
His smooth voice was calm, warm and inviting after the sharp shards of pain that had been running through her arm, through her body, through her head, just moments ago.  
  
“Th-thank you.” Hermione breathed the words up at him, her eyes closing again as she swallowed, her throat now sore and dry.

Hermione didn’t care this time that it was another thank you. Didn’t care that he had been the one to do it. She wasn’t stupid, she knew the injury needed treating, and despite wishing that he’d looked at it sooner, she couldn’t hate him for what he’d just done. If he hadn’t, she would have ended up far worse. He could have chosen to do nothing at all, but he didn’t. And at the end of it all, he had taken the time to soothe her, to comfort and calm her. Maybe it was weak of her, but she just couldn’t hate him for that.  
  
A slight frown marred his handsome face as he looked down at her. She supposed he was confused as to why she was thanking him for torturing her. Because that had definitely hurt just as much, if not worse than Bellatrix’s assault. Although the insane woman had cast the Cruciatus Curse on her numerous times, she had been more focused on the symbolic carving on her arm. The one Hermione was now sure would scar.

_Mudblood._  
  
Scabior didn’t understand why she was thanking him. Surely, she realised it was his fault she even had that wound. He was the one that had recognised Potter, leapt at the chance to earn extra galleons and subsequently led the way to Malfoy Manor. It was his fault that she had been hurt, and again, his fault that it had gotten that bad. He’d known the previous day that she’d been injured, and he’d not thought enough to check it.  
  
“Just… just lie there for a bit.” He mumbled at her, finally tearing his eyes from hers. The guilt had twisted inside him, and he still had to constantly remind himself that he was on top of her for the wrong reason. The hitch of his groin was all too eager to see how far he could take this comforting thing. To see how much he would get away with, and that was why he carefully climbed off her. It was his fault that she’d had to endure that pain. He wasn’t going to traumatize the poor girl further by pushing things whilst she was so badly hurt.  
  
Hermione watched as he climbed off her, silent as he stood and walked away. His footsteps faded as he reached the bathroom and she heard him clattering about, in what she guessed was the one locked cabinet she had seen in there that morning.  
  
She lay there, still as a fallen statue. She didn’t even lift her head from where she lay near the foot of the bed. She worked on slowly wriggling a finger, the muscles in her arm screaming at her in reply to the movement. She gave up, hoping that the longer she left it, the less it would hurt.  
  
The Snatcher, who she now knew to be called Scabior, came back into the room, looking grim. He moved and sat down on the bed beside her before she could see what he held in his hands.  
  
“Take another deep breath.” Scabior instructed and saw her eyes widen in panic, her mouth opening as though to cry out. “I’m jus’ gonna wrap bandages around the wound.” He hurriedly explained, before she could argue that he’d said that he was finished. “It’ll help keep the dirt out so that we don’t ‘ave to do that again.”  
  
Hermione let out a quiet whimper but what he said was persuasion enough. She didn’t ever want to do that again. She looked up at the ceiling, closing her eyes for a moment, hating that she knew how much it was going to sting. Also hating that he could see her looking so weak. She took a deep breath, and on queue Scabior began to wrap the clean, white bandages around her forearm.  
  
Sure enough it hurt again, but nowhere near like it had before.  
  
Hermione watched him as he attentively saw to the bandages, waving his wand over them once they were all wrapped round.

“Repello inperfundities.”

She recognised the charm to be one that repelled dirt, as he placed it on the bandages. Hopefully he really wouldn’t have to carry out that treatment on her again. She shifted, aiming to sit up, but his eyes flashed down to meet hers.

  
“Don’t try ‘n’ get up just yet. Don’t want you passin’ out on me again.” He said casually, but she could hear a tightness in his voice and got the idea that he was being serious. She nodded slightly, her head feeling light as she did so, realising he was probably right.  
  
Hermione watched as he waved his wand at a mop in the kitchen corner, then back at the soaking wet floor beside the bed. She listened to the sound the mop made against the liquid as it soaked up her spilt tea from before and the spilt alcohol from moments ago.  
  
The Snatcher walked over to the kitchen cupboards, beginning to search through them while the mop went to work. Hermione took the moment to close her eyes and take a deep breath. She had no idea where she was. She had no idea where Harry or Ron was, and she had just been put through more pain than ever before. Above all though, the thing that was bothering her most- she was being polite to the Snatcher!  
  
She was tired though, she reasoned. She was hurting and in no position to fight back. She supposed that the better behaved she was, the more likely he was to take pity on her. Maybe if she played her cards right, he’d even let her go? It was a long shot, but it was all she had right now. She just needed time to recuperate and then she’d be able to formulate a better plan. Yes. That would have to be her plan for now.  
  
“Here.” Suddenly the Snatcher was back, and he was was thrusting something at her; a packet of some sort, but she couldn’t see with it that close to her nose. She cautiously took it from him with her uninjured arm, and held it further back from her face. It was a packet of biscuits, only a few remained and the wrapper had been twisted into a knot at the top.  
  
“They should be alright,” he explained as she looked at them dubiously. She began to pull at the knot with her only usable hand, but the packet fell away from her twice before Scabior took it from her. In moments he had the knot undone, and was peering into the packet, inspecting them. He took one, sniffed it and took a bite.  
  
“Yeah, they’re fine.” He said brightly, apparently relieved that he had something for her to eat, before he handed them back to her.  
  
Hermione took the packet, smiling slightly, reminding herself to at least appear grateful. But she sniffed at the open packet all the same, taking a small nibble of the plain digestive before she considered it safe to eat.  
  
Although the biscuits were slightly stale, they were the first food Hermione had eaten since before the Snatchers caught them. She ate the last few biscuits appreciatively, looking up at Scabior, as he looked down at her.  
  
Scabior was still sat there, on the edge of his own bed, looking down at her. His blood was thrumming, telling him to just take a chance and to hell with it.  Because he had to have her. He had no idea why he craved her so much, why he wanted her so much. The only thing he could think of was that she had refused him. Didn’t they always say that you want what you can’t have? She was good and honest and innocent and quite obviously not like the women he was used to.  
  
But the fact remained. She was Hermione Granger, The Mudblood that accompanied _Undesirable Number One_ , and the blood traitor, Weasley. They had been up to something and if he found out what, maybe he could return to the Manor in good graces?  
  
“If I ask what yer and your boyfriends were up t’ in that forest, are yer gonna tell me?” He asked her unexpectedly, Hermione’s eyes widening slightly. There was a pause before she found the words to answer with.  


“I told you already, not one of them is my boyfriend.” She stared up at him, waiting for his reaction, expecting anger at her evasive answer.  
  
Suddenly he laughed, saw her flinch at the sudden loud noise but couldn’t help himself.  
“Oh, ‘n’ you expect me t’ believe that the three of yer were merely hiding from the likes of me?” He questioned, referring to her earlier comment in which she plainly stated that they’d been hiding from him.  
  
“And the other Snatchers.” Hermione added, because it was terribly important to her that he didn’t know how much he had scared he. How much he _still_ scared her.  
  
“Seems t’ me that yer weren’t hidin’ when we caught ya. In fact I hear yer went to see that Lovegood loon.”

Hermione remained still, just stared at him and tried to give nothing away. But inside her heart was beating faster the longer he questioned her. So that was his game. Play nice and get information out of her.  
  
“You’re not going to get information out of me. No matter what you do.”

 Scabior didn’t miss the shift, the small wince as she tried to move her injured arm but couldn’t. He smirked down at her; amused that she was still being so stubborn after all she had just endured.  
  
_Because of him._  
  
Hermione tried to shift back, realising that if he wanted information, he could easily grab her injured arm. She wouldn’t tell him. She’d rather die than tell him, but she also didn’t think that she could handle that pain again just yet. Not if she could avoid it. So, she lay there, glaring up at him. Keeping her promise to Harry. She’d survived Bellatrix Lestrange without yielding after all. No. Hermione Jean Granger would never tell.  
  
“Trust me love…” Scabior was leaning over her again now, his left hand on the bed near her waist. “If I wanted t’ get information out of yer…” he spoke slowly. “ _That_ ent the way I’d go about it.” He let his eyes travel slowly down her, smirking as he reached up with his right hand to the zip on her jumper.  
  
Hermione was breathing fast again, inhaling the smell of the forest- his smell. She was suffocating on it. In him, in fear and in something else. Something that kept rising from inside her, running hot through her blood... and that scared her even more.  
  
_Oh Merlin, help me._  
  
The Snatcher’s hand moved down her body, the only noise was that of her fast breathing and her zip as he lowered it. Her baby- blue t-shirt came into view and she was thankful that she had dressed for practicality. She rather thought that a lower cut top would have made the situation even more problematic.  
  
Hermione closed her eyes, trying to block it out. Trying to block that feeling out.   
  
“Yer see, unlike the others…”

He was breathing against her neck again. He seemed to do that a lot. She shivered, unwittingly, not realising until his head rose with a triumphant glint in his eyes that was the reason why he did it. He wanted to make her want him.  
  
So Hermione closed her eyes again. Tried to ignore the rising tension that had suddenly swelled between the two of them, threatening to drown her with every wave. Tried to ignore the tingle of her skin as that energy between them crackled like electricity, sparks flying between them. Tried to ignore the way her body felt. The way her blood rushed frantically beneath her skin. The way _he_ made it feel when he was that close.  
  
“How long d’you think you’d last, Miss Granger?”

Scabior was tilting his head, his breath stroking her face. His hand was in her hair again, her soft curls coiled between his fingers. The hand that held his weight had shifted, just enough to grab a handful of her jumper. So, she couldn’t scramble away.  
  
Hermione tried to take a deep breath, because her head was spinning and didn’t show any signs of stopping.

  
“How long d’you think you’d last, if _I_ tried to get information out of you?”

Her heart was bashing against her chest and her uninjured hand clenched the bedding, because her body was thrumming, with panic and anticipation.  
  
She didn’t like this. She didn’t like how out of control she felt. Didn’t like how her body responded to those smooth and seductive words. How her body responded to his touch, his rough fingers caressing her skin. Didn’t like how her body responded to _him_.

Hermione felt like she was drowning. Drowning in this pit of uncontrollable urges- things she didn’t understand and didn’t want to be tempted into. Things she was struggling to ignore. It scared her. Scared her so much that her body was even feeling anything but fear around him. She had to remind herself, remind herself that it was just her body responding to his touch. It was physiological. An automatic response. But she would never give in to him. She would never submit.  
  
Why wouldn’t she just submit to him?  
  
Scabior’s need was driving him crazy already. It was that scent, her soft skin and riotous curls. How delicious she looked lying there so vulnerable yet determined. That fire blazed at the back of her eyes.  
  
Merlin, he wanted her.  
  
Hermione started, her eyes opening wide as his tongue licked slowly along her lips  
  
“Do you think you’d stay silent?” His lips were mere moments from hers, his breath ghosting over her lips. Too suddenly his free hand was on her thigh, moving up. She stiffened, held her breath, her eyes wide.  
  
_No. Oh no._  
  
“Or do yer think I could have you screaming secrets?” His finger stroked higher, and she wanted to clench her legs shut, but her body didn’t respond. She lay stock-still, her heart racing as he whispered those alluring words against her lips.  
  
“Do yer think I could make yer crumble beneath me Princess?”

Because fuck he wanted her to let him. Wanted so much for her to cave.  
  
_Just let me_  
  
Rough fingers trailed higher, torturously slow and Hermione couldn’t breathe. Her body was tingling, alive with the heated blood thrumming beneath her skin. She felt a coiling tension in the pit of her stomach. No. Lower. Heat was blossoming in places it shouldn’t be, causing her cheeks to flush with apprehension and shame.

Those rough fingers reached the top of her thighs as they travelled over her jeans and she suddenly couldn’t take anymore. She clenched her legs together, clenching her eyes tightly closed, blocking it out.  
  
_Please block it out. Don’t let me give in to this._  
  
Scabior saw the flash of fear as she closed her legs and eyes. He plastered the smirk on his face but didn’t really feel it. As delicious she was when she looked fearful, cornered. His prey. He didn’t like that she had fear in her eyes because he was touching her.  
  
His fingers continued to trail up, and he swallowed as they trailed along the area she was so protective of.  
  
She swallowed her gasp as his fingers travelled up, catching her clit lightly for just a second before his fingers continued on their journey. She felt that jolt run through her body but lay still. She kept her eyes closed, held her breath when those tormenting fingers reached her jeans button. But she was surprised when, instead, they headed to the bottom of her jumper, where he’d left the zip almost fully open.  
  
She opened her eyes in surprise when his fingers grasped her zip and instead of undoing it, he zipped her jumper up. Right to the top, making her tilt her head back, swallowing as he moved in close to her face. His fingers lingered at her neck, on her zip, pulling it tight.  
  
“I could have yer spilling secrets in no time Sweetheart.” He breathed, watching as her eyes turned fearful again. She stared back at him, and he could still see that fire blazing, but for now the waves of fear had taken over.  
  
“But don’t worry…”

Hermione stared back at him, willing him to look away, because she didn’t like how scared she was of him and of herself.

“…I was only curious.”  
  
And with that he sat back, released her, and smiled.  
  
Hermione’s chest was heaving as she lay there, hating that she almost felt bereft, now that he had moved from her. She felt his absence like a loss, and she hated him for it.

Was it all a game to him? And she the playing piece? Because that was how she felt. She just couldn’t work him out. She was deviating constantly between fear and panic, gratefulness and appreciation and something far, far worse.

Because it was clear to Hermione now that when he touched her, her body responded.

Desire.  
  
She didn’t even understand it, but knew she never wanted to surrender to that. She couldn’t.  
  
Because that would well and truly be her downfall.  
  


 

Spells and charms

Sano- Latin for; cure, remedy, make healthy, make sound, repair.  
Repello- Latin for; reject, foil, repulse, drive back, rebuff  
Inperfundities- Latin for; dirt

  
A/N: I know, I know... I'm a tease. Naughtiness next chapter? Oooh.  
Thank you Skye for always giving my work a read through  
  
Email: [Gryffindorgirl2010@hotmail.co.uk](mailto:Gryffindorgirl2010@hotmail.co.uk)   
My tumblr site: <http://gryffindorgirl7777.tumblr.com/>

 

 


	8. Warnings

New A/N: I hope you’re enjoying the edits! Thank you for reading my work through Skye!

Original A/N: Sorry it's been so long. Been preparing for my two-week hospital visit next week. St Thomas' hospital in London here I come… woop woop ~_~ But anyway, I have this update and another one I shall post before I leave. :)  
  
Chapter Eight  
  
**Warnings**  
  
Hermione was frozen, lying on that bed, the trace of his touch tickling her skin. She glowered at him at first, but he backed away, sitting back down in his usual kitchen chair. He put his feet up on the table and began to ask her mundane questions. Questions that had nothing to do with Harry or their quest. So, she answered them.  
  
He asked her about school, about her favourite classes and the class she liked the least. He asked her what sort of hobbies she had and raised his eyebrows when she told him; reading. He asked her what house she was in, but had already guessed correctly, so he mocked her for being a Gryffindor.

“You’re always so self-righteous.” Scabior had exclaimed, before pausing, because she had a right to be.  
  
As Hermione had previously guessed, he revealed that he was best at charms and hexes. He explained that he wasn’t very gifted when it came to healing charms, which had stunned her. She was confused as to why he was revealing a weakness to her, but then decided that it probably didn’t matter, he had the wand after all. She was unarmed and completely vulnerable.

As though he heard her thoughts about weakness and vulnerabilities, he made sure to remind her of his expertise with the Dark Arts. When he spoke about it, his voice so low and dark, that she really was scared. His words almost sounded seductive, provocative. Hermione had to still the shiver that ran up her spine as he described a particularly awful hex he’d had to cast a few days before. His reminder worked and she told herself to simply remain polite.  
  
_Stay out of trouble as much as you can._  
  
She couldn’t keep up with his change of mood, and temperament. He had been leaning into her mere moments ago, pretty much torturing her before, and now he was talking casually with her, almost like she was a friend.  
  
“So when they say you’re top of yer class” Do they mean the very top?” he asked casually.

Hermione nodded at him in reply. Even the fear she felt from her situation didn’t dampen the flash of pride within her. “I got the highest marks in all my tests.” She replied quietly.  
  
“Well then, I’ll ensure t’ keep any wands out of yer reach. I’m sure yer could do more damage than you let on.”

Scabior was looking her up and down again, referring to how innocent she looked. But underneath, he bet she was capable of some very scary and very dangerous things.  
  
_Bugger. Nice going Hermione._  
  
But she guessed he would never have let her in arm’s length of a wand anyway.  
  
The longer they sat, talking, the more she became able to move. An hour later, she was sat up, leaning against the metal rails at the foot of the bed, listening and conversing with him. He really didn’t seem that bad when he was like this. It was when he got too close that she couldn’t stand it.  
  
Whilst he was talking about a foolish antic of one of his group of Snatchers, Hermione pushed her hair out of her face. She turned her nose up at the state of it. Where she had sweated whilst he poured the burning liquid on her arm, and where she’d been unable to wash her hair, it was now in a right state.  
  
As she ran a hand through it, she found a couple of broken leaves from the forest in it. Felt how mucky it was and cringed. She felt all over terrible.  
  
“Why don’t you go ‘ave a shower?” He suggested, and once again her instincts overcame her and she pressed herself against the metal railings, cold spreading across the pit of her stomach.

“Promise to behave in there and I promise to let yer keep the door locked.” Scabior stated, smirk in place as his eyes glittered playfully. He knew that she still feared him, and rightly so. He held her life in the palm of his hand. “Unless you’d rather stay like that?” He added, when she didn’t move.

“I’m fine like this.” Hermione lied, crossing her arms before looking like she regretted the decision to do so almost instantly.

“Well I ent.” Scabior replied. “Can’t sell yer to prospective clients if yer smell, can I?” He crossed his arms then, mirroring her actions as his lips curled up into a smug smile.

Scabior watched her brow furrow and saw her jaw tense as she clenched her teeth together.

“Good.” She replied tensely. Because what right did this Snatcher have to sell her freedom anyway? Hermione’s teeth ground together as she glared at him. Merlin, she hated him.

“Go ‘n’ shower,” he instructed her.

“No.” Hermione replied but her eyes landed on his wand as he twirled it in his fingers. She was sure his eyes were still glinting in amusement, but she didn’t know how long that was going to last.     
  
“I-I don’t have any clean clothes.” Hermione’s small voice finally replied. She wanted a shower, but she didn’t trust him. Not for a minute. She watched, as he looked her up and down, his feet still up on the table. He studied her, his eyes tracing her for a few minutes longer before he got to his feet.  
  
Hermione scrambled, crying out slightly when her arm burned in protest to her movements. As he approached, she pressed herself against the wall, ready to try and fight him off this time if he touched her again.  
  
But he didn’t. He merely walked to the bottom of the bed. She peered down over the railings, craning her neck so that she didn’t need to get too close. He had moved to a small chest at the end of the bed, that she hadn’t previously noticed.  
  
When he turned around again, she flinched slightly as he handed her an over-large, creamy coloured shirt. From the looks of things, it hadn’t been worn in a very long time. In the small pile he had handed her, beneath the shirt, was also a white vest and a pair of socks.  
  
The Granger girl looked up, about to say something but scowled at him when her eyes landed at the pair of boxers he now held out to her.  
“No?” He asked, amused.  
  
“No.” She replied sternly, her eyes dark.  
  
“You’ll ‘ave to make do with what you’ve got for now then.” He informed her, throwing his black boxer shorts back into the now-open chest.  
  
When he turned back, she had gotten to her feet and was looking at him smugly. However, before she had a chance to give him another excuse he smirked and flicked his wand.

“Impervius.” His smooth voice muttered the incantation she had used so many times on Harry’s glasses. He had placed a waterproofing charm on her bandage.

“You’re running out of excuses Sweetheart.” he sneered. It was beyond evident that she didn’t trust him to keep his word and stay out of the bathroom whilst she was in it.  
  
“There’s a clean towel in there, Princess.” He bowed dramatically, teasing her. “Yet can even use my toothbrush if you like?”

Scabior couldn’t help but laugh out loud at her venomous expression. It looked as though she was trying to set fire to him using only her eyes. “Leave yer clothes outside the bathroom door ‘nd I’ll make sure they get washed.”  
  
Hermione’s nose wrinkled slightly at the idea of it. He’d already proven to be gifted with domesticated charms but somehow the idea of him washing her clothes unsettled her. It was almost too, _intimate._  
  
“Oi!” The Snatcher suddenly smacked her on the arse, causing her to yelp and hurry forward. “Go ‘n’ shower!”

Because he hadn’t missed that sarcastic glint in her eyes, he hadn’t missed the look on her face when he said about washed clothes. He wasn’t sure what that glimmer in her eyes had meant, but it was almost like she was looking down her nose at him. Like he wasn’t good enough to even touch her clothes, let alone wash them.

Scabior considered refusing to wash them, for a moment, but then, she would look so much better in clean clothes.  
  
When he didn’t hear her enter the bathroom or shut the door he pictured her lingering in the hall and sure enough he heard the desperate rattle as she tried the handle of the apartment door.  
“Hurry up or I’ll come an’ help yer undress!” He called out to her, and sure enough he heard her retreat to the bathroom. The door slammed shut and he heard her slide the bolt across with a determined scrape and resounding thud.  
  
Oh that girl was entertaining.  
  
Hermione couldn’t deny it; she appreciated the shower. She guessed that the hot water wouldn’t last long, but it was long enough.  
  
The first thing she had done, after locking the door was to shove a dirty rag, that she guessed was his flannel, into the one crack in the door. She then turned again to the window, double-checking that it was indeed locked. But she was aware of how much noise the handle made as she rattled it. She really didn’t want him to come in.  
  
Hermione had always been brought up with cleanliness and good hygiene being a priority. Her parents were dentists after all. So, she turned to the sink, running hot water as she began to strip, half-covered by a towel at all times. She dropped her underwear into the sink and began to scrub at them with the bar of soap, her arm throbbing under her efforts. There was no way she was going to let him anywhere near them.  
  
Whilst her bra and panties soaked in the sink she rubbed at her teeth with a corner of the clean towel, using her finger to rub some toothpaste onto them. There was no way in hell she was going to use his toothbrush.

Finally, she hung her underwear on the towel rail. Hopefully the thin lace would dry before she had to return to the main room. After all, she had made sure he took his boxers back. There was way was she going back out there in nothing but a shirt and socks. She’d wear them wet if she had to.  
  
After wrapping a towel tightly around her, she hurriedly unlocked the door, hiding behind it as she dropped her clothes to the floor. She only opened the door wide enough to drop her clothes to the floor, but she saw no sign of him in the hall. Taking no chances, she shut the door hurriedly, locking it again within seconds of her opening it.

Hermione placed the towel on the corner of the bath as she pulled the mildewed shower curtain across, wanting it close to hand in case he decided to go back on his promise. She kept her ears peeled, ready to wrap the towel around herself at a moments notice.

She shivered as she turned the shower on, waiting for the water to warm up and as it did, she couldn’t help but let out a grateful sigh. The hot water felt heavenly on her aching body.

Hermione pressed her hands against the cold tiles of the wall, her head hanging under the steady stream of hot water. Whether the Snatcher had known it or not, she had needed this. She used the only shower gel he had, which left her smelling minty and fresh. She lathered the cheap shampoo into her troubled curls, unsurprised by the lack of conditioner.  
  
When Hermione eventually stepped out of the shower and into the steamy bathroom, she had felt warm and refreshed. She sighed again the towel wrapped tightly around her wet body. She rubbed the condensation away from the mirror on the locked medicine cabinet. Her brown eyes stared back at her. She knew it was her, the reflection still recognizable, but it felt different somehow.  
  
It didn’t feel like her. She didn’t feel like herself at all.  
  
“Fer Salazar’s sake, Princess…!”

Hermione jumped, instinctively hugging the towel to her as she heard him shout. She turned to face the locked bathroom door, knowing he was just behind it. She pressed herself back against the sink.  
  
“How long are you gonna hide in there?” Scabior called impatiently through the door. She was taking forever.  
  
“I- I’ll be out in a few minutes.” she called back to him and he sighed, walking away from the bathroom door. She was a pain in the arse. A delightful one, but a pain all the same.  
  
Scabior turned back to the clothing in the sink; happy that his charm had done its job and scrubbed the clothes clean for him. Using another charm, he made her clothes hang in mid-air in the middle of the room, like they were on an invisible clothesline. There wasn’t as much washing as usual, but it still separated the kitchen from the lounging area of the room where his armchair sat.  
  
Scabior noted how the young woman’s black bra had lace detail and couldn’t help but wonder if her panties would match. But as the charm scrubbed at her clothing one at a time, he soon realised that she hadn’t handed them over to him. Not that he could really blame her.  
  
Scabior sat down in his armchair and waited on her impatiently. His fingers began to drum on the arm of the chair, and he let out a sigh of annoyance. She was taking forever. Typical woman.  
  
He was picking the dried mud from his waistcoat when he heard the bolt slide across and the bathroom open. Immediately he looked up, able to see into the hall from his seat. He watched her as she tentatively turned around, looking again at the handle on the apartment door. Then she felt his gaze on her, turning to face him like a deer caught in the spotlights.

The Granger girl looked timid, nervous even as she walked into the room. Maybe she should be, he considered, because she was just being self-conscious, when really, she should be more worried about him. Scared of him. Because as she wandered in, her feet clad in socks too big for her, her long, slender legs on display to just above her knees.

He cursed silently to himself because that shirt had always been too big on him, he should have given her a smaller one. One that would have shown more skin.  
  
But all the same, as she padded across the wooden floor, clothed in his vest and shirt, a towel still wrapped around her head, his breath caught in his throat. His groin hitched as he surveyed her. Her skin was positively gleaming, flushed from the heat of the shower, and she had that nervous, vulnerable look written across her face.  
  
He had to swallow. Swallow it down. Swallow down the need and the want. Because this was getting stupid. Ridiculous. She stood awkwardly before him, pulling the towel from her head only to rub it over her wet curls. And they were riotous, still wet and glinting in the light.  
  
She looked up at him dubiously, expectantly. Waiting for him to say something, but he had no idea what to say.

  
“See, yer don’t look so bad.” He lied, gesturing to his clothing. Because she looked better than that. She looked positively delicious. His clothes brushed and stroked against her clean, flushed skin and he found himself wishing it was his hands caressing that smoothness instead of the fabric.

  
Hermione gestured to her hair, because she was aware of how long it had gotten since she last had it cut, and knew that without conditioner, if it weren’t wand dried then it would be an absolute disaster.  
“I usually wand dry it,” she explained. “And I don’t have a hairbrush.” She admitted, feeling like an idiot in his oversized clothing.  
  
Luckily her lacy black pants had dried, so she was saved from having to wear them wet. She was just relieved that she hadn’t had to ask to borrow his pants. She couldn’t have been happier about that. The idea of having to poke her head out from behind the door to ask him for his boxers was just something she hadn’t wanted to endure.  
  
“Do I look like I own a brush?” He questioned her indignantly, pointing up at his own hair. He was stretched out in a chair again, this time the armchair. He was low in the seat, his long legs parted and stretched out casually before him as his arms rested lazily over the arms of the chair.  
  
The young woman blushed, presumably at her own stupidity, for asking someone like him if he had a brush. She lowered her head, looking even more adorable. Normally he didn’t go for adorable, he didn’t go for cute. But right then, he wanted to scoop her up in his arms, lower her on the bed, and ravish her.  
  
Hermione watched as he rubbed his hand over his face. He looked stressed, and she knew he was trying to hide it. He looked away from her, staring at the bed as he rested his chin in his hand.  
  
Hermione shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want to sit on the kitchen chair, remembering how she had woken up tied to it previously, but she definitely didn’t want to sit on the bed either.

She didn’t want to be there at all.  
  
“Why are you keeping me here?”

Scabior looked back up at her; distracted when she breathed the question so quietly that he almost missed it. He looked at her, looked her up and down and inwardly shook his head. He had no idea. No sodding clue anymore.  
  
“I’ve told you why.”  
  
Suddenly he got to his feet, making her take a few steps back. She looked up at him defiantly, seeking her answer.  
“I-I know you need the money, but what is it you’re going to do to get it?” Because she knew it concerned her, she just wasn’t a hundred percent sure how yet.  
  
He began to walk towards the kitchen and she turned, keeping her distance before backing up towards the window. That was when he abruptly stopped in his journey to the kitchen, whirling around and heading back towards her.  
  
She was so easy to trap.  
  
Scabior walked towards her, watching as she backed up against the wall, horror on her face as her back hit it. He saw the realisation in her eyes, saw that she understood she was cornered, and he smirked down at it.  
  
“I’m gonna sell you.” Scabior bent down towards her, his hands moving to the wall either side of her head. He was a fair bit taller than her, as she stared up at him insolently. “To the highest bidder.” He grinned.  
  
“So you would sell me to a stranger?” Hermione’s voice was quiet, but the rage was building inside her. “And what for? Am I to be a servant? To act like a House-Elf for them?” She seethed back up at him. Because she wasn’t a possession. She was Hermione Granger and she was a human being.  
  
He bent down a little more, breathing the words at her, the room so quiet, the tension stretched too tight.  
  
“You would do…” His eyes travelled across her face, landing on her lips as the bottom protruded slightly in an angry pout. “… _whatever_ …” His eyes drifted back to her eyes as they stared daggers at him. “…they wanted.”  
  
Her eyes widened spectacularly and suddenly she was pushing at him. He laughed down at her as she struggled but he stilled her in a moment. He pressed himself against her, pinning her beneath him against the wall.  
  
Hermione’s cheek was pressed against his chest, breathing in the smells from his waistcoat. The leather, the forest. The smells reserved just for him. Her hands were pressed against his chest and she was trying to push him away, but all she was doing was whimpering as he leant against her injured arm.  
  
“Do yer think yer can stop struggling? Stop fightin’ me.” He instructed as she pushed against him. “Because I don’t need the hassle love.” He told her, honestly exhausted by her need to be so disobedient. It was going to sell her either way. She may as well just accept it.  
  
“You can’t do that!” He heard her muffled cry against his chest and wondered for a moment if she was actually crying. “You can’t do this!”  
  
But as he stepped back, grabbing each of her wrists in fluid movements, he saw that she wasn’t crying. She was glowering at him; heated eyes and an angry frown.  
  
Hermione saw a flash of surprise on his face as he looked down at her before his smirk returned. He let go of one of her wrists and she pulled against the other, leaning her whole bodyweight away from him but he held her there easily.  
  
“You’re forgettin’ one thing here Pet,” he positively purred. She froze; giving him the darkest, angriest look she could muster.

  
“What’s that?” she spat back. Because if it was something about her blood, about her being Muggleborn. If he was about to hiss words at her like; _Mudblood, traitor or scum._ If he said just the once that she had no rights, then she was going to give him a reason to get rid of her.  
  
Hermione had experienced words about her heritage, had heard them enough from people like Malfoy. She’d experienced those words enough to last her a lifetime. Her arm seared in pain, as though reminding her.  
  
Scabior’s smirk held in place as his piercing blue-grey eyes stared into hers. He leant in again but just ever so slightly this time, before replying.  
  
“ _I’m_ the one with the wand.”

With that he flicked his wand, his smooth voice muttering an incantation. “Relligo.”  
  
Suddenly, a rope was conjured from the tip of his wand, wrapping itself tightly around Hermione’s wrist as he held it tightly in his hand. She gasped, trying to pull back with renewed force. But it was too late. The Snatcher let go of her as she pulled away and stumbled backwards, stopping as the rope pulled taught, tugging painfully at her wrist.  
  
Hermione looked up to see that he had directed the other end of the rope to tie itself to the bedpost. She hurried towards it, trying to pull and tug at it. But it was no good. The rope had bound itself magically to the post and because it was magically secured, there wasn’t even a knot for her to pull at.  
  
Hermione growled and grit her teeth, trying to pull the rope from the bed, but it appeared that the bed had been charmed to hold it in place against the wooden floor. Horrified, she couldn’t help but wonder how many other women he had done this to. She pulled at the rope on her wrist, looking up to snarl at him.  
  
But he had moved.  
  
Hermione turned, watching as he walked through the doorway into the hall.  
  
“What are you doing?” Hermione shouted at him furiously. She walked away from the bed as far as the rope would stretch and saw him putting his boots on. “Where are you going?” she cried in outrage. Because it looked like he was planning on leaving her there, tied to the bed.  
  
“Out.” he replied.

He didn’t even know why he bothered to do so, because it didn’t matter. Not to her anyway. She didn’t matter. Didn’t matter and wouldn’t matter because he was going to find her a buyer. He was going to get rid of her.

He had to get rid of her, because Salazar help him, he couldn’t stand that thrumming of blood through his veins every time he was around her. He didn’t know how to subdue his need, his want. He didn’t know how to look at her as anything other than prey. So, for her own safety, as well as his, he had to get rid of her.

Get rid of her and get her gone and get her out.

Out of his head, out of his apartment and away from all his senses, because they’d all been going wild since she’d arrived.  
  
“To find a buyer.” He knew it was malicious; to torment her with that snippet of information, but the Slytherin in him couldn’t help it. It was true after all. What should he care if she was scared, if she panicked? What should he care about her at all?  
  
Hermione tried to pull away from the rope again at his words, but when she couldn’t she let out a small noise, something between a strangled cry and a whimper.  
  
“W- What if I need a drink? Or... Or the toilet or something?” Hermione shouted back, desperately, trying to restore the strength to her words. So far, he’d been attentive to her needs. Maybe he’d realise and untie her? Maybe he’d reconsider? Maybe.

_Wishful thinking Hermione_

She didn’t even know why she said it, other than the burning need to escape that ran inside her had thought it was a good idea.  
  
Suddenly he stormed back into the room, his boots clomping on the floor. His coat swept out behind him as he pulled it on and turned to get something out of the broken cupboard. She heard the tap run for a few seconds before he stormed back over. She tried to back up again, but she couldn’t go any further. With her back pressed against the metal railings as she stood at the bottom of the bed beside his clothes chest and slid down it in defeat.  
  
The Granger girl was looking at him sideways on from her place at the bottom of the bed. He licked his dry lips, some of the anger and annoyance dissipating as her eyes shimmered up at him; full of disdain, sorrow and hate. He watched as she brought her knees up to her chest, the shirt long enough to cover most of her legs as she pulled it down quickly. She was hugging herself protectively as she looked up at him, tucking her knees beneath her chin.  
  
Merlin.  
  
Suddenly he slammed a glass of water down on the floor, some of the water splashing over the sides as she stared at it.  
  
“Yer get thirsty, or need the loo?” Scabior began. “Use that!”

Scabior didn’t give her a backwards glance, just headed towards the doorway and left her there. Because he couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t stand to see her look so defeated, so vulnerable and so… scared. All wrapped into one.  
  
He already felt like shit. And he wasn’t a bad guy. He wasn’t. He just… He needed the money. And… Well, she just happened to be disposable.  
  
Hermione let her chin rest against her knees, jumping when the door slammed after him. Again, she had whiplash from the constant change of mood and temperament. She just couldn’t keep up with him. Didn’t understand him.  
  
 Didn’t want to.  
  
Hermione hung her head in despair and let herself sit there for as long as she needed. Because she had been trying to escape. She had been trying to plot, because Hermione Granger always had a plan. But after that shocking answer to her question, her mind had gone blank.

_You would do… **whatever** … they want._

Her mind had gone blank, fear had swept in and it had all become far too much.  
  
_Harry._  
  
She went to whisper his name only to be shocked by the Snatcher again. She hadn’t heard him cast the silencing spell, but it was clear that he had. Now she couldn’t make a single noise. Couldn’t scream or shout, or more importantly, say that taboo’d word.  
  
_Lord Voldemort._  
  
But no matter how much she mouthed the word, it didn’t work. At least she knew what to expect from the Death Eaters. Torture, imprisonment, or death. But with him, with this man Scabior, she never knew what to expect. Only hours ago, he had comforted her after the painful treatment of her wounds. Climbed above her, lust in those grey-blue eyes as he had taunted her. Just like the night before. Then they had talked civilly. He had _been_ civil all afternoon!  
  
And now she wished she hadn’t asked that question.  
  
_Why are you keeping me here?_  
  
Now she knew. But wished she didn’t. She was stuck in that hellhole, just waiting for him to return. If he ever _did_ return. Because she realised with terror, as dread filled her body, that if anything happened to him, she would be stuck there.  
  
The Snatcher was out finding a buyer for her. A buyer. Like she was a doll. She was going to be sold, all so he could get his riches and she would have to do whatever the purchaser wanted.  
  
Hermione shivered, feeling terribly sick at her thoughts. She closed her eyes to them. Tried to ignore them. Maybe he would slip up. Maybe he would choose a clumsy client. Maybe it would be someone she could easily escape from, get her hands on their wand maybe… maybe.  
  
But there were too many maybes and it all seemed so terribly hopeless whilst she was tied to that bed, awaiting his return. _She_ seemed so bloody helpless.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
It was bloody useless!  
  
Every client Scabior knew of and could think of, admitted their alliance with the Death Eaters. Didn’t want to dare angering them. Scabior acted the part of course, agreed and bowed and didn’t dare to bring the girl up. If any one of those Death Eaters caught wind of him having captured her, he would be killed. The only clients in the area had aligned themselves with the dark figures that helped control the Wizarding World.  
  
Fuck!  
  
He hurried through an alley on the outside on the city, eager to move on to another one of his contacts. Someone who may be able to tell him whether the Death Eaters knew he had stolen her or not. His contact would have some information for him at the very least.  
  
As Scabior hurried on, he heard a sudden snapping noise behind him. Being a Snatcher, there were certain skills that he had grown to have perfected. That of tracking or knowing when you are being tracked was one of them. So, he carried on walking, reaching for his wand inside his trouser pocket. He fingered it, careful so that no one could see him doing so. Suddenly he turned, firing a curse at the figure that abruptly dived away from him.  
  
However, someone closed in on him from his right, apparating just to the side of him with a crack. Before he could turn, firing his wand at the bastards, he was grabbed. Another figure apparating with a second crack that echoed through the vicinity.  
  
Fuck. The bastards had cornered him, coming at him from every angle. Scabior fought back of course. Elbow met nose; booted foot met shin. They were all just a tangle of flailing limbs and curse words. But just as he fought them, they fought back. A fist to the stomach and he doubled over. A kick from the front to the face, making him reel backwards.  
  
At some point they had taken his wand. The disarming spell had torn it from his grasp, and he tried to look up, work out where it was as he struggled, kicking back. A body smashed to the ground, but someone grabbed him from behind, seizing his arms and suddenly he felt that sickening pull, like he was being squeezed through a tube, telling him he was about to reappear somewhere else.  
  
When that spinning stopped, Scabior looked up. He was in a dark and familiar drawing-room; empty fireplace, and the same drawn figures that had stood in front of it before. Minus one. Lestrange wasn’t there, and he could only be thankful for that.  
  
Scabior was forced to his knees and he growled angrily at whoever it was that was damn near tearing his arms out of their sockets. What right did they think they had? Who the fuck did they think they were?  
  
But he knew exactly who they were. They worked for those blonde, pale figures in front of him. The drawn, dark figure of a more haunted looking Lucius Malfoy stepped towards him. Suddenly there came a smack, iron hard, as his cane came up and clouted him across his face. Scabior’s head snapped back at the force of it, close to bone breaking. His nose burned and then there came smell and taste of bitter metal running through his nostrils, down his throat, in his mouth.

Blood. It was always blood.  
  
“You let them get away.”  
  
The dark voice made him look up, glaring at the owner of it in contempt. Scabior’s upper lip curled up slightly, almost a snarl. He knew his place. He knew he lived below these men. These men of status and wealth. But he fucking hated them. Fucking hated them so much that it was close to sickening.  
  
Yet, they were the ones that handed out the money. The Purebloods who paid, and Merlin, did they pay. They would pay for the sickest of requests. They would pay to snuff out lives, to make them harder, or just to scar them forever. Sometimes it was worse. There were vile requests that Scabior tried to stand back from.  
  
He would hunt, he would hand them over in exchange for his money, but they went straight to the ministry. They were handed over and imprisoned, not tortured, not killed. As far as he was aware anyway. In this dark world there were times that he had to school his features. Wear a mask. Not a physical one like the Deatheaters, but a mask all the same. A blank and guarded one. There were times that shades of grey got so dark that they were almost black. As much as he played his part, smiling from the shadows, it didn’t mean that he enjoyed every moment. No. He was sick, dark and twisted, but even he had limits.

  
“My apologies, _Sir_.” Scabior bit back at him, spitting blood onto the cold stone floor as the figure behind him held him in place. “I weren’t aware that you, your wife, and your sister in law needed assistance… against three children.”  
  
They were hardly children. They were of age, but they were barely adults either.

He hissed the words any way, enunciating slowly as he smiled darkly up at Lucius Malfoy. He received his payment for them with the grating murmur from Malfoy’s lips. He roared as the Cruciatus Curse ran through his body, but he was used to pain. Was used to this fucked up dark world. It was his domain after all.  
  
“My apologies…” he breathed. He had to play nice. Do as he must. Get away quickly. It occurred to him that he was still alive, so they didn’t seem to know he had the girl. “What would yer ‘ave me do?” Scabior panted slightly as he questioned the man standing over him.  
  
Scabior glanced at Malfoy’s wife. He noticed her dead eyes were glazed as she watched the exchange, saw it was the same with the kid. He recognised that look. It was the one he saw in the mirror when he had that mask set in place. Do what you must do. Survive.

Merlin, every time he saw the Malfoy’s kid, he looked so much paler, so much more terrified. He looked like he was trapped, frozen, watching everything with horror that was only revealed when you looked into his sunken eyes. Scabior wasn’t overly surprised, after all the kid had that crazy fuck as his dad.  
  
“You and your men are going to find them, Snatcher. You mark my words.” Lucius hissed. He turned back, walking a few steps closer to the fireplace, waving his wife away from the room, whispering something in her ear before she left. Then Lucius turned back again, watched in satisfaction as Scabior struggled slightly.  
  
_The fucking bastard. I bet he fucking gets off on it._  
  
But he knew for a fact what the bastard got off on. Things that scarred his mind, broke through peaceful nights and made them into the dark nightmares that woke him, drenched in sweat. He had wound up close enough to that inner circle to know that Lucius wasn’t alone in his sadistic wants and needs. His twisted desires.  
  
The need to spill the blood of those that were under him. Just to prove a point.  
  
“You’re going to find them, and when you do, I want you to bring the Granger girl to me.”

Luckily Lucius turned to sneer at his son, missing the flash of sickening alarm that flooded Scabior’s body, made his eyes widen. Made him feel sick to the stomach.  
  
The blonde and haggard man was looking at his son, his lips curling into a dark grin, before he turned back to him.

“I will be teaching my son a thing or two with that filthy Mudblood bitch. He’s reluctant now, knew her from school you see but I think it’s important that he learns to put that aside. He needs to learn the importance of showing her kind their place. To understand that blood is the only importance here. He’ll soon warm to the idea, don’t you think?”  
  
“Indeed sir.” But the words tasted bitter in his mouth. Like bile. His stomach roiled with the understanding of those words. Fuck.

Scabior glanced at the younger Malfoy again. Scabior was sure he could hear the silent screams coming from inside the shorter blonde’s head. Saw the abject terror radiating in those grey eyes. Something that looked too much like; _Help me._  
  
“ _If_ I find you had anything to do with their escape…” Lucius was talking quietly, lowly, stalking slowly forward again, demanding Scabior’s attention. “You will pay with your life as dearly as they will, Snatcher!”

Again, Malfoy’s cane hit him, smashing the side of his head; a thwacking noise that connected with his temple and reverberated as he felt like his head had imploded. Next there came a boot to his stomach, the need to heave, but breathing was too important. Another casting of the Cruciatus Curse, just for good measure.

 _All because of her._  
  
All because he had wanted to save her from the abomination that was Lestrange.

Perhaps he should have left her. Ignored the screams and his impending need for money and just left her, to die at Lestrange’s hands, Greyback’s teeth. What did it matter? He was certain that anything was better than being handed over to Lucius Malfoy and the rest of the twisted men in the inner circle. Lestrange and Greyback would seem like a reprieve.  
  
No. This pain was because of her. Because she had made him want her. With her teasing skin and her teasing eyes and that taunting, mouth-watering scent. The way she had looked when he left her. Creamy soft skin, slender legs, flushed cheeks and terrified eyes.  
  
Merlin, it was all because of her.  
  
That wench had poisoned him with everything that was her, and he was suffocating because his need was only growing, and he couldn’t have her. Wouldn’t take her, not like that.  
  
But coercion, seduction, maybe.  
  
He liked that. Liked to taunt them, tease them. Make them beg. But this pain, this sharp reminder that she didn’t belong to him, that she was already sold. Her life was sold. Her very life itself had already been purchased and the man was like a reaper, only far more violent, far more vicious, and everything that she shouldn’t have to endure.  
  
The taste of metal, the ache of bones. The knowledge that bruises would be dispersed across his body by nightfall. He was dropped in a heap back in the alley he was found in, the figure behind him apparating away from the monster before him without a word.

Scabior slammed into the ground; reaching for his wand the moment the dark-robed figure dropped it. He wheezed slightly before casting minor healing charms on the worst of his injuries. The rest could wait. He wiped hurriedly at his bleeding nose, still slowly bleeding away, but he had to get back. Had to make sure he wasn’t being followed. And as he struggled to his feet he knew that would take all the energy he had left.  


 

 

 

Relligo- Latin for; fasten, tie, tether.  
  
A/N: Remember guys, Scabior has a chip on his shoulder about something... and he obviously hates Lucius. Remember he's trying to keep himself safe over Hermione but is still driven by some insane need to have her. So, bear that in mind. ;)

http://gryffindorgirl7777.tumblr.com/  
  
Also got a video trailer up for this fic online: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QU27j6bkUPQ  



	9. Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Dub/Con

New A/N: I hope you’re all enjoying the edits and thank you for commenting/reviewing. It’s always encouraging. I was just wondering if any of you would like to create some new artwork for me? You can get in touch with me via email or my tumblr.

This isn’t necessarily a comfortable chapter guys, so you have fair warning here. It gets a little dark.  
WARNING: Dubious Consent

Original A/N: Hey guys, sorry it took so long for me to get this to you. Got the data off my old computer now though. Also, I'm so used to adding tabs to make words italic, sorry if I've missed any. Hope you like, this chapter is a lil darker than the others though. Please stick with it. It doesn't mean the rest of the fic will be like this, please just trust me. Having said that, I can’t please everyone.

  
Chapter Nine

  
**Need**

 

  
It was getting dark outside. There were no lights on in the apartment and now nothing but moonlight shone in through the thin, useless curtains. Hermione traced what she could make out of the old pattern with her eyes, following the vines on the yellowy fabric. Her eyes were sore, straining to see in the dark.  
  
Hermione had fought against her bindings, had angrily turned to the glass he had slammed into the floor, and smashed it. Glass shards lay glittering around and within the puddle of water that soaked the wooden floor. As for the biggest shard, Hermione had carefully picked it up, trying to cut at the rope that held her to the bedpost. But it wouldn’t cut. The rope merely shimmered with a green light every time she tried to cut it. It refused to break, so she had thrown the piece of glass out of the room, watching it land in the hall before she slid back down to the floor.

  
Hermione hugged her legs again, her knees in at her chest. She was getting colder now; she could lie on the bed, take the blanket and snuggle up, but she didn’t want to. She needed to be on her guard for when the Snatcher came back… or any potential clients he might bring with him. The last thing she wanted was to be asleep when they returned. She didn’t intend on making this easier for them.

The Snatcher couldn’t do this to her. He couldn’t. How could he pretend to care as he had earlier on, and yet pass her on to someone else, someone who might be worse, without a thought?!

   
_But he had a thought, didn’t he?_  
  
She reminded herself.  
  
_Money._  
  
Hermione shifted uncomfortably. It disturbed her that his eyes still haunted her. They still stared out at her from the darkness of her mind. They taunted her, mocked her and she felt thoroughly ashamed for the way her body responded around him. She felt sick, hated herself… and hated him.  
  
Hated him for so many reasons.  
  
For accosting her in the first place, haunting her every waking hour. For capturing her and turning her in. For turning Harry and Ron in. For letting her be tortured, only to save her, tearing her away from her friends. She hated him for being so close to kind, so close to caring, acting civil and everyway a man _should_ act. Only to shred apart that image, smashing it into pure ruination. Taking any hope of escape or reconciliation with it and wasn’t that what this nightmare was about?  
  
Dwindling hope and enforcing upon her the knowledge that she had no control here. No hope of overcoming him. No hope of him willingly letting her go.  
  
Still she couldn’t help but question if he just as trapped as she was? Just as desperate for money as she was for freedom?  
  
She doubted it. Because those two could never be classified as the same, or even remotely similar. Money was needed, yes. It was necessary in most cases. But freedom was _essential_. She needed it. She needed freedom and control like she needed water and air.  
  
Hermione hadn’t felt the wind on her skin for days. She couldn’t escape the musty apartment, couldn’t escape him. His smell still lingered in the air around her. Drowning her.  
  
Hermione sat in the same place, looking up at those thin curtains. Looking through the gap and out into the darkening sky. She had been so absorbed with her thoughts and fears that she didn’t notice how dark it was becoming outside. Night was falling.  
  
She could feel the cold of winter through the empty room, through the thin shirt. But she wouldn’t move, wouldn’t huddle under blankets. She didn’t dare. She refused to be comfortable, not when she could so easily fall asleep- she was that exhausted. So she stared, waiting. Thinking. Breathing. Because she couldn’t breathe around him.

_Make the most of it Hermione. Make the most of being you, because if he comes back, it just might be with the new possessor of your life._

  
She hated feeling like she was a House-elf. How she was expected to serve a stranger. Lives shouldn’t be this easy to possess and trade. She wasn’t an idiot, nor was she naive but she’d never imagine it could be this easy, to be boxed, gift-wrapped and handed over in exchange for something cold. Metal.  
  
Because that’s all money was.  
  
Cold.  
  
Hermione nearly leapt out of her skin at the sudden slam of the front door. Her heart soared into her throat, hung there, too large to swallow. It pounded there, stopping her from breathing as she peered up and out just enough to see the hallway.  
  
It was him.  
  
The Snatcher was tearing off his boots and coat, swearing to himself. She couldn’t see him in the dark hallway, but she felt it; the sudden wave of foreboding that was released from his very being.  
  
Something was wrong.

Hermione stayed crouched down by the foot of the bed, but was on her toes now, prepared… for what, she didn’t know. Just prepared. Ready. Scared.  
  
“Fuck!”  
  
Hermione’s heart finally slipped from her throat, but it had plummeted into her stomach. Her blood was running cold, her breathing shallow as she heard his furious expletive. She’d never witnessed him this angry before. With a sudden thud of her frightened heart, she realised that he had put his socked foot down on the big piece of glass she had thrown out there.  
  
Hermione couldn’t help it. She cowered. Inwardly scolded herself for doing so, but it was instinctual now. The need to survive. Freedom was one thing, but without survival it was worthless.  
  
The Snatcher came storming into the room, flicking his wand towards the light and she blinked, shielding her eyes suddenly, the rope still around her wrist. When she looked up, she saw he was stomping towards her, incensed and in a rage.  Anyone could tell that he was from the dark energy rolling off him, but in the dim light, in the shadows of the hallway, she hadn’t seen the blood.  
  
Her heart stopped. Positively stopped and her blood froze with it.  
  
The Snatcher’s head was bleeding, only slightly now but there was a matted clump of hair, full of dry blood by his temple. Dried blood painted his face with a long dark streak from his temple to his chin. Merlin, his nose was almost purple, dry blood still on his skin, on his upper lip. He had been hurt badly, and those were only the injuries she could see.

What had happened? What could possibly have happened to him, for him to return to her like this?

  
Scabior stormed towards her. Furious. Angry and hating her. Hating her for being something he desired. The teasing, taunting chit. He had risked everything for her, and she had no idea. No idea. And as bad as it was that he would sell her on, at least she wasn’t dead. At least she wasn’t in that manor.  
  
But the ungrateful bitch had obviously taken that for granted, and the last of his control had snapped when his foot went down on that sharp shard of glass. Who did she think she was?!

  
Hermione scrambled up as he approached the end of the bed. He was fuming. She could see it, feel it washing over her in paralyzing waves and she had no idea why. Her heart had started beating again but seemed to overcompensate. Now it raced too fast. Her head was spinning as she took a shaky breath, pressing herself against the railings of the bed.  
  
Scabior glanced down at the broken glass before lunging out to her, his feet careful to avoid the sharp shards. His fist gripped her wrist tightly, almost tearing her arm from her socket as he pulled her towards him… like that hooded figure had done to him.

  
He noticed her shallow breathing, the almost whimpers as he tugged her from her refuge, that small corner she had pressed herself into. He held her wrist at a distance from him, didn’t need to press her to him to want her this time. The want was already there and the more he stared into those wide, chocolate-coloured eyes; it was enough to make that morsel of control slip further.  
  
She was looking up at him, wide eyed and there was something there, something shimmering in those beautiful eyes.  
  
Her free hand reached her mouth, covering it slightly as her eyes took in the blood, the bruises, the injuries. It was so much worse up close. What had happened to him? She didn’t even think, didn’t even realise when, in that moment, her hand moved from her mouth, reaching out cautiously to touch his face.  
  
Red and blue to purple bruises were blossoming beneath the skin on his handsome face, and from the blood on his shirt she suspected he was injured elsewhere as well. There was something in those eyes, behind the rage and predatory glower; it was something so close to how she’d been feeling all day. He looked almost trapped. Out of control. Something was so suddenly out of his control. She just didn’t know what. Suddenly didn’t want to know what.

Hermione was jolted back to her senses painfully when the Snatcher shook her, her arm aching at the force of it. Her mouth flew open, releasing a silent cry and he was glaring at her, snarling at her as he shook her violently.  
  
“What was that Mudblood?” Scabior spat at her, snarled at her. Threw the words back.He had seen something in her eyes. Something far too much like pity, and if there was anything he hated more than men like Lucius Malfoy, it was pity.  
  
If anything _she_ should _not_ be pitying him!  
  
_What?_  
  
In her panic Hermione went to speak, to question what he meant but winced as a small shard of glass went through her sock and into her foot. Of course, no sound came out. It suddenly seemed too loud in there. His anger and rage seemed so loud in front of her, roiling waves of dark fury were suffocating her. For once she felt small and she felt all that Gryffindor bravery melting away.  
  
“I won’t have you look at me like that. You hear me?” Scabior growled at her, forcing her back as he avoided the glass. She looked bewildered, fear gleaming from those wide eyes. He was still holding her arm, still threatening to tear it from her socket as he shook her about.  
  
_I don’t…_  
  
Hermione started silently again, because she didn’t understand. She didn’t understand why he was suddenly in such a rage, and why he seemed so mad at her. She could see hatred glaring back at her from his predatory eyes, almost drowned out by something else. Not just the rage. No. It was something that frightened her far more. Something she was trying to retreat from as he took several steps forward again, forcing her to stumble back.  
  
Scabior flicked his wand, watching as her pink lips moved. He decided he needed to hear her. He wanted to hear that whimper when he breathed against her skin.  
  
“Wha-?”  
  
Hermione began to ask again but was cut off when her back hit the wall, winding her. She slammed against it, closing her eyes and wincing. The Snatcher pressed her into the wall, her wrist pinned to it in his hand beside her head. Her other wrist was still bound by the rope that was pulled taught from where it was tied at the foot of the bed.

  
A flick of his wand, her usual flinch and the rope disappeared from her wrist. Scabior snatched at her wrist, grasping it in his free hand swiftly, before pinning it to the wall on the other side of her head. He held her there her wrists held tightly in his hands either side of her head as he leant down to look more closely at her.

Her fair skin looked pale as she stared up at him, fighting to free herself as he held her there. Despite the evident fear pulsating beneath her skin, she still had that flicker of angry flames in her eyes. Something he found too irresistible, because he liked a challenge and knew that she would break for him in no time.  
  
“I don’t need pity from you Princess.” The Snatcher breathed into her, growled the words lowly. His words hit her, square in the stomach. The sound of his voice, that look in his eyes; It hit her hard.  
  
The Snatcher’s eyes bore into hers. So angry, so full of hate and dominance, telling her that, in that very moment, she had no choice but to obey him.

Those blue-grey eyes gleamed at her, cast in his shadow as he held her wrists in place. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, his waistcoat hanging open and he looked like he was hurting.  
  
“I- I don’t- don’t underst-”  
  
Hermione began to stammer but her words were cut off. Her heart leapt in shock as suddenly his lips crashed against hers. Her head hit the wall behind her, and her eyes flew wide. Her cry of surprise was muffled against his lips as she pressed hers together tightly.

Fuck.

  
He was losing it. Had lost it already maybe? The moment she had opened her mouth, his gaze on those red, ripe lips… he couldn’t help himself anymore. He’d forgotten how she tasted, that sweetness and pureness that was everything he wasn’t. Everything about her standing before him was taunting.  
  
He heard her muffled cries as his lips pressed against hers, immediately seeking admittance, trying to prize her lips apart with his tongue. He tightened his grip on her wrists as she tried to push him from her, her head pressed back against the wall so hard that she could barely twist and turn it away from him.  
  
Hermione’s heart had stopped. Her blood replaced with a combination of shock, fear, anticipation and heat. That heat was suddenly heating up the pit of her stomach, her skin practically vibrating. Still she was fighting him. She refused to let him. Still refused to submit to him.

He pulled back for a second and she took a breath, breathing it in like she’d been drowning.  
  
Scabior waited, mere seconds, before she opened her mouth, angry eyes frowning up at him. But he missed what she went to shout at him, because he dived at her again, his tongue sliding into the wet, cavernous heat of her mouth.  
  
Hermione tried to struggle, went to cry out, to scream at him… but he used it to his advantage. His tongue slid between her lips as he captured her mouth with his again.  the pounding of her heart returned, too fast, pounding too hard. That heat and fear and something pulsing around her body.  
  
At first, she remained still, her tongue unmoving as he slid his across it, tasting her. Fuck. Because she seemed so much sweeter this time round. It had been like a drug before, that sweet, honey taste of her mouth. Now so suddenly it had been too long, and he’d not had enough. Fuck…  
  
_No._  
  
Hermione’s head was screaming at her.

_Don’t let him do this! Don’t let him… Merlin… Oh God…_

Because the way he groaned into her mouth made her knees go weak. The way he kissed her, breathed her in-- like his very life depended on it, like he would ravish her, devour her on the spot-- it left her feeling uncertain and unstable.  
  
It wasn’t just that he left her feeling weak. Her whole body was pulsing, throbbing with that sensation that was thrumming through her blood. The mix of fear and heat and fuck…

  
Scabior could barely breathe, could barely stop himself from pushing his body flush against her, but knew couldn’t. Couldn’t trust himself. Because he would cave, he would give into those desires, the temptations she was causing. He would well and truly ravish her right there and then, without a word.  
  
Hermione whimpered into his mouth, her struggling weaker now as she trembled against him, her legs weak. His tongue was dancing across hers, his lips kissing her hard and hungrily. She could taste metal, his blood, bitter against her tongue. He was draining her. Draining her completely. Depleting her of every stubborn reflex to oppose him, to stand against him. That tongue, those lips, his taste, that scent- they made her want to submit.

  
Hermione hated herself, as she trembled, could barely breathe as his lips still pressed hard against hers. Hated herself, because any minute now… any minute she knew she would end up kissing him back.

  
Suddenly Scabior pulled away, because that control was way past gone. He stared down at her, feeling that his eyes were a little too wide and hers a little too bright.  
  
“Fuck.” He barely breathed the word as he stopped to catch his breath, bowed his head for a moment, trying to regain control. Just a moment, because he was nowhere near done with her.

Too suddenly, the Granger girl struggled fiercely against his hold again, crying out at him, her eyes blazing with anger.  
  
“What are you doing?!” She was shrieking at him, but all he could hear was his own breathing, the pulsing of his own blood as he tried to control himself. Tried to reign it all in.  
  
“Get off of me!” Hermione screamed at him, trying to pull away from his grip, to lean away from him. Lean away from those lips and his scent, because Godric help her, what had she been about to do?  
  
“What are you doing?” she shrieked loudly again. “What happened to you?”

  
_What happened to you?_  
  
Her angry words coursed through his head, along with the pounding of his blood.  
  
_What happened to you?_

  
“You.”

Barely a breath, barely a growl- but enough. The young woman froze, her eyes wide, shining and confused.  
  
“What?”

He watched how her lips stuck together slightly for a second as she parted them to speak. Oh, how delicious was that? That look on her face.

“Yer wanna know what happened Princess?” Scabior growled into her, getting closer this time. “This…!” He pointed at the injury on his head. “…is because of you. It’s your fault.” He snarled and watched her reaction.

  
Stunned silence. Wide, chocolate-coloured eyes, her brows knitted together in confusion and unease.  
  
“And this…!” Scabior pointed at his nose, the bruising purple, marring his otherwise perfect features and betraying that it had probably been broken.

“And… this.”  
  
Suddenly he moved her wrist from the wall. He tugged her wrist away abruptly, pulled it down and pressed her hand against the hard, tented mound in his trousers. He watched carefully as the young woman swallowed. Unable to tear his eyes from hers, he held her hand against him as she tried to pull her hand back.

Hermione was trying to yank her hand away, but the Snatcher’s grip on her wrist was tight. She swallowed thickly, couldn’t take her eyes from his as they pierced through her like glass. The heat from beneath his trousers seeped into her hand and she felt his cock harden, tenting those plaid trousers beneath the warmth of her hand.

  
Scabior pressed her hand against himself, couldn’t help the half-hiss, half-growl he let out between his teeth. His eyes closed for a second, her smaller hand, long fingers were pressed against him as he hardened, and he could feel the heat of her hand on the other side of his trousers.  
  
“Fuck.”

Hermione was so shocked, so stunned that all she could do was stare at him, lips parted.  
  
_Her fault?_

How was any of this her fault? If he’d just left her alone, if he hadn’t hunted her in the first place, neither of them would be in this mess.

  
“L-let me go.” The Granger girl’s voice was small, so full of fear. What part of it didn’t she understand? She was in his possession until such time that he decided to get rid of her.

But he wouldn’t force himself her. Oh no. But coercion, tempting her, even blackmail, he wasn’t above that.  
  
“Yer know where I’ve been today?” He questioned, knowing she had no idea. “I saw a prospective client… someone who’ll take great pleasure in getting’ to own you.” His voice was low, smooth, as he leant into her, still not removing her hand. He closed his eyes for a second again, trying to ignore the pulsing of his cock beneath her palm.

  
“Don’t sell me.” It was almost begging, but Hermione told herself it was a request as she swallowed down her fear. She tried to ignore the hardening lump in his trousers beneath her hand. Tried to ignore those piercing eyes as they seemed to bore into her very soul, illuminating every hiding spot she had to hide it.  
  
“P’haps we can work out a deal then?” He questioned her, leaning in further, closing his eyes at the pressure of her hand against his cock. “What can _you_ do fer me?” He questioned her, a smirk on his face, his eyes hooded. He watched her panic, watched as she looked around the room in alarm.  
  
“I- I can tidy… clean your apartment, clean up after you.” Hermione stammered, grasping at any idea she could think of, because she already knew what he wanted, could see from that look in his eyes. She felt it in the pit of her stomach… and lower  
  
The Snatcher let out a rough bark of a laugh and she closed her eyes to it in despair.  
  
“Yer really think I _care_ what this apartment looks like?” The Snatcher sneered at her. He was still angry. So angry at her that she could practically taste it rolling off his skin in waves. She still had no idea what she’d done.  
  
“Wha- what about… P-potions!” She threw the idea out helplessly. “I-I can brew potions for you, I-I’m really good at it. If you get me the ingredients…” She began to stammer hurriedly but he cut her off with an outright sneer in her face.  
  
“I think I’ve proved that I can survive without.” Scabior growled, before his eyes travelled down her body obviously. Hinting heavily.  
  
“P-Please…” she whimpered quietly, hating that she feared him and his threats. “What do you want?” She questioned quietly, desperately ignoring the woman’s intuition inside herself that claimed she already knew.  
  
“You owe me.” Scabior said slowly and clearly, his voice still low but this time rough. “I let yer go in the forest, and I saved you from the manor. I’ve already made my usual deal _very_ … clear.”  
  
Her eyes were wide. The air so full and thick with fear and tension.  
  
Hermione remembered his earlier comments, about exchanging sex for freedom. Her head was light from all her shallow breathing, from being so close to him. She was trying to ignore that constant scream emitting from the back of her brain.

“Wha- what? No!” She began struggling anew against his grasp again. “No! You can’t do that!” She cried, scared and desperate and just wanting to escape.  
  
Suddenly he leant in, close to her face. He was frowning, his injuries clearly bad, clearly painful. Were they really her fault? How could they be?  
  
“I won’t keep you for nothing girl.” He growled viciously at her, before leaning back and smiling darkly. “A certain Mister Lucius Malfoy, has shown great interest in yer, my little _Mudblood_.” He snarled, adding on the last word for emphasis. She froze for a second, taking in his words, the terror practically dripping from her. Her knees almost failed her for a moment, and he had to tighten his grip on her wrists to keep her from falling.  
  
“No.” she breathed. Her chest had tightened, her heart was pounding, and she couldn’t breathe. “No. Not him.”

She knew how little he thought of her, how much he hated her. She couldn’t go back there. Not to that manor. Not to him. She just couldn’t.

  
“…Said he wanted to teach his son a lesson about _Mudbloods_.”

But he didn’t need to add that into the conversation. She was scared enough. He could see it, feel it, _taste_ it rolling off her skin and into the tense and heavy air surrounding them.  
  
“Please…” Hermione breathed, not even considering that she was begging him. “Please, please don’t… Not him!” She was panicking, trying to pull away, just wanted to be away. Anywhere but there, with him and that threat hanging over her.  
  
The young woman’s small voice struck him in the chest, pushing past everything else he was feeling in that moment. She stopped struggling for a second as desperate, pleading eyes stared up at him, starting to water.

“He’ll kill me.”

Scabior swallowed thickly before he spoke again.

“I told yer…” His words were gentler this time. “I won’t keep yer for nothin’. You know the deal love. Your choice.”  
  
He knew it wasn’t really a choice. Not much of a choice at all. He already knew what she would pick and underneath it all, somewhere beneath the taste of her, the need for her, and the hating of her, he felt sick at himself.

  
“Don’t.”

There was a tear as she pleased this time. He brought her wrists round before her, almost hissing at the loss of heat from her hand. He was desperate for that touch again, but he’d get it soon. Knew that he’d already won.

“Please…” Hermione was crying now. “Please don’t do this…” She sobbed as he held her wrists together tightly in one hand. The rough skin of his hands rubbed along the broken, sore skin of her wrists as he moved to pull his waistcoat from one shoulder.  
  
“I… I can’t.” She sobbed desperately, sinking, her knees threatening to give way as he swapped her wrists into his other hand, pulling his waistcoat from himself. She leant back against the wall, leaning her head back, looking at the ceiling before she closed her eyes. She wished that she could curl into herself, merge into the wall or disappear entirely.  
  
_Merlin, let me be anywhere but here._  
  
“What will it be…?” That low voice of the Snatcher, reaching her through the darkness.

Because Scabior couldn’t wait anymore. His erection was almost painful beneath his trousers. He was desperate, desperate to taste her again.

“…because these injuries are because of you Sweetheart, so forgive me if I’m not in a patient mood.”

The threat was so poignant, so raw and so terrifying that she opened her eyes once more. The tears fell from them.  
  
“I c-can’t…” The young Granger woman managed to breathe, looking up at him, pleading. But he noticed that she didn’t say no.  
  
“Fine.” Scabior snarled. “But if yer say that to ‘im he’ll rip your tongue out.”

Somewhere there was sickness. Knowing he was wrong. Knowing it was all too dark and twisted as he turned, pulling her away from the wall slightly.  
  
“No!” she shrieked desperately, trying to stop him from dragging her towards the door. Her foot went down on another piece of glass, but she had more pressing matters to worry about. What would a bit of glass in her foot matter when she was screaming in pain on the marble floor of that manor again?

“No. Please!” She sobbed, her legs almost failing her again as she pulled against him, trembling violently. She wanted to be strong. To face the Malfoys once again come-what-may. But her arm was throbbing, reminding her of the injury that lay there. She knew that she’d got off lightly on her last visit but it had been worse than anything she’d had to endure before.

 

 “I- I’ll do it.”

  
Hermione had never felt so desperate, so low. So sick and so utterly fucking defeated.

  
The Snatcher didn’t even hesitate. He turned around, pulling her into him, one hand in her hair, the other pulling her to him from the small of her back. His lips crashed onto hers again, his tongue sliding across them, but all she could do was sob.

  
Scabior felt her shoulders shake, felt her wet tears on his painful face. The salt stung the cuts, the broken, bleeding skin. He knew he deserved it though, the sting of salt. Knew that he deserved so much worse as he continued to kiss her, silently pleading for her to kiss back.

But the taste was enough. She was enough to drown it all out. She was enough to get lost in. And finally. Finally, that want, that need would be sated. He would no longer crave her.  
  
Scabior tore his lips from hers, too desperate, too much need. Heat had replaced his blood- that animalistic desire that so rarely took control, so rarely crazed him like this. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted someone this bad.

Blue-grey eyes met cinnamon, like ice on fire; because beneath the water rising in them, there were still flames blazing at the back of her eyes.

Fuck. That last thread of control was so taught, pulled so tight that it was almost painful.  
  
Scabior pushed forcefully on her shoulders and she struggled against him, trying to stay on her feet. She cried out against him, staring at him with those wide, fearful wet eyes, but she fell to her knees all the same and he turned immediately to the buckle on his trousers.

  
Hermione couldn’t breathe. Cried out helplessly as he pushed down on her shoulders. She tried to fight back; her wrists now free but he was so much stronger, and he proved it. Her sock slipped on the wooden floor and she fell, painfully. She cried out as shards of glass dug into her legs but didn’t have time to tend to them.

She heard the terrifying sound of a belt being unbuckled and suddenly she couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

_Merlin. Please get me out of here._

The Snatcher reached down and grabbed her wrist again. Hinting. Hermione just stared at the open button as he moved her wrist, made her sit up on her knees- on that shattered glass. He began to tug his trousers down, but his other hand forced her hands inside black boxers that were so suddenly at her eye-level.  
  
Hermione held her breath, couldn’t breathe anyway as he pressed her hand against his hardened cock. She was blank. Had nothing. Didn’t know what to do, but knelt there, let the tears roll down her face.

Suddenly he had tugged his boxers down too. She was still close to the wall, she wanted to back up into it. Melt into it and become no more. But she couldn’t.

The Snatcher’s long, hardened cock sprang from the confines of his boxers and he hurriedly pulled at her wrist again, eyes closing as she obediently wrapped her hand round it.  
  
“Fuck.”  
  
Hermione looked up at him; fearful as he breathed out the word, hissed it out, almost like he was in pain. But he didn’t let go of her wrist. In fact, he guided her hand, made her rub along his cock, back and forth in the grip she already had on him. His cock was big, silky and hot… and she had no idea what to do with it. She looked up at his closed eyes, his parted lips and tried to remember anything and everything she had ever heard about things like this.  
  
_It wasn’t supposed to be this way. It was supposed to be Ron. Merlin. He was going to hate her. Godric help her, it wasn’t supposed to be like this!_

Scabior’s hand moved faster, guiding her speed before he let go, one hand on her shoulder, holding her down there, even though she was no longer fighting him. Fuck. It felt so good. So good to have her long, dainty fingers wrapped around his cock. He could feel her warm breath ghosting across him as she breathed out shallow breaths. _  
_  
It wasn’t enough. He needed that heat. That wet, heat he had had when he kissed her. Fuck. Just the thought of it made him want to come right there. _  
_  
Suddenly the Snatcher’s hand moved from her shoulder to the back of her head. He forced her head forward and she closed her eyes tightly. _  
_  
_Merlin. Please. I don’t want to do this. Not like this. Please let me be anywhere but here._ _  
_  
But she’d said she would. She’d submitted, defeated entirely by his threats and she had no doubt that from the state of him, from the anger and rage directed at her, he was telling the truth. But it didn’t make it okay. _Nothing_ about this was okay.

“Go on Princess.” Scabior could barely breathe as he glanced down at her; saw that she was completely tense, stock-still. He rubbed his fingers gently against her head for a second.

“Let me keep you.”

  
The breathy, lust-filled voice above her made Hermione’s shoulders shake as more tears rolled down her cheeks, because she knew that if she didn’t do this, he would send her to a painful death. Send her back to the manor, and although she didn’t want to stay with him, she didn’t want to be sold to Lucius Malfoy either.  
  
So, Hermione tried to recall everything she had read, every gossip-filled whisper she’d heard from Lavender and Pavarti in their dorms at Hogwarts. She was analytical and logical and that’s how her mind chose to deal in this moment. She’d tackle it like a school project, trying to recall any data she had on the subject. Merlin, she was laughable, but she’d do what it took to survive.

Hermione felt his soft, silk cock against her lips and licked them. The slight taste of salt as she felt his cock hitch at her warm breath. She closed her eyes one more time before she licked out at him, heard his groan and felt him reach his arm out to lean on the bedpost beside her.  
  
_Fuck._

  
The heat of her breath, the taste of her lips still fresh on his tongue, and now her tongue was lacing his cock with that sweetness.

Fuck.

Scabior could barely control himself, his fingers curling around her hair as she knelt before him. Submitting. Licking him so much it was driving him mad. Everything about it. About her. That scent was all consuming. The feel of her soft, riotous curls in his hands, and the wet heat on his cock.  
  
Finally she wrapped her lips around him, making his body jolt, making his blood pound harder. His grip on her hair tightened as she worked her mouth on him. So good, so sweet, so hot and wet and… fuck!  
  
She was driving him insane. Finally, that raving need was being sated. She was so fucking perfect at it. Her long, delicate digits wrapped around the base of his cock, rubbing just where her mouth couldn’t reach.  
  
Scabior could barely control himself, tried to let her keep the pace. Tried to let her… Tried to stay in control… But the need and the want and the desire was driving him mad, sending him into oblivion. She was still managing to taunt him, still teasing him, because what she was doing was perfect, but that pace, it was just that bit too slow… just keeping him from reaching his release.

  
Hermione shifted slightly, trying not to lose her balance on her cut up legs. As she shifted however, one of the shards of broken glass pushed further into her skin, making her whimper against him.

  
The control snapped.

That last, taut strand of control had suddenly snapped.

That sound, the way it reverberated around him, sending tiny shivers of vibrations along his cock. He lost it. Lost himself entirely in her.

Suddenly the hand that was holding Hermione’s hair tightened, the grip painful. She went to cry out as he pushed against her head, pushing her too far, making her gag. This time she really couldn’t breathe as he held her head in place, one hand in her hair, the other still on the post of the bed.

She’d obviously done something wrong. This was obviously punishment, because her eyes watered, and it wasn’t just because of her tears. She was choking, gagging on him, trying to cry out but his hips bucked back into her as he forced her head forward again. And again. And again.

Hermione’s hands were on his hips now, felt his soft skin beneath her fingers and pleaded silently for him to stop as she tried to push against him. She felt him harden further in her mouth, heard his laboured breathing above her and tried to stop him. She tried to push him away, to get him to stop so that she could breathe. But he didn’t.

  
Perfect. So, fucking good and perfect and her mouth was so hot and wet and just… delicious in every way.

Scabior was so close now, too close and he felt every little noise she made. So close. She was driving him insane. Although his eyes were closed, he smelt her, tasted her still, heard her and felt the soft curls of her hair beneath his fingers. As she drove him into that oblivion, in the darkness of his mind he saw those blazing, fiery eyes staring back at him.

Scabior thrust into her wet, hot mouth once more, hitting the back of her throat again as her lips covered almost all of him and let out a groan of pleasure as he came.

_Fuck._

Hermione coughed and pushed against him as the salty tasting mixture covered the back of her throat. She gagged slightly, swallowing his come because she had no choice. He was still holding her hair in his hand, still had her pressed against him.

Suddenly he released her head, and without the extra force to push against, Hermione lost her balance and fell to the floor. He stayed there but leant his other hand against the wall for balance as she heard him catching his breath.  
  
Hermione wiped hurriedly at her mouth, her face wet from her tears. Her head hurt from the grip he’d had on her hair and she took deep, grateful gasps of air. She could breathe again…

But couldn’t rid herself of the taste of him.

Scabior opened his eyes, trying to catch his breath as he pulled his boxers up with one hand. As he pulled his trousers up, he glanced down at her- The subject of his desire.

The guilt rose within him.

  
That had been a dirty game he’d played. Too Slytherin, too cruel… Too much like Lucius Malfoy. Fuck.  
  
Scabior took in her messy mane of hair, as she stayed curled on the ground. Then he saw the blood, saw the cuts on her legs, the small shards of glass still stuck to her skin in places. Then she looked up, the guilt beginning to rise even further.

The young woman’s face was soaked with tears. Wet, angry eyes met his gaze and he had to swallow. Felt a bit too ill suddenly. His rage had abruptly and completely disappeared. He didn’t know why he’d taken it out on her in the first place. Just knew that his beating, his desires had been her fault.

All the same. He’d played a cruel game. He promised not to sell her to Lucius Malfoy in exchange for something he knew she didn’t want to do.

The Snatcher crouched down suddenly, and she scrambled, ready to fight back. Because that hadn’t been sex, and that was his deal, right? Merlin, she couldn’t take any more. Didn’t want to do any more.  
  
“Woah! Calm down!” He snapped at her as she scrambled back, cutting her legs to shreds in the process. He reached out, grabbing a hold of her at the shoulder, reaching out to the leg that wasn’t curled beneath her. To her surprise he gently pulled a shard of glass from her leg, healing the small cut instantly with a wave of his wand. But she didn’t want it. Refused it. Pushed him hard to get him away and backed up.  
  
“Get away from me!”

The young woman, this Granger woman, let out a trembling but angry cry. She pushed hard at his shoulders, almost making him loose his balance. She was crying, sobbing and curling in on herself as she scrambled back.

He felt so sated… and so sick.

Hermione couldn’t stand him. Couldn’t stand him and hated him for what he’d done. Hated him more so because he had toyed with her. He’d repeatedly pretended to be kind, to be caring, all to make her trust him. She’d never trusted him. Not for a second. But the fact that he had pretended to be trustworthy, to be reasonable instead of an obvious monster, that was so much worse. He had lied to her. Told her that he’d never force her… but now…

  
“Alright.” Scabior murmured as he got to his feet. He was looking down at her and waving his wand at the broken glass so that it all flew into the kitchen bin. He hurriedly buckled his belt, looking back down at her as she let out a choked sob before glaring up at him. Hot, wet, angry, hurting eyes.  
  
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m a man of m’word. I’ll keep yer safe from Lucius.” But her expression didn’t falter, it just made him feel worse.

“I didn’t force you Princess.”

That was when her eyes closed for a moment, a slow tear rolling down her cheek before she looked back up at him.  
  
“Yes. you did.”

The guilt had replaced everything. He was almost choking on the shame of it.  
  
Scabior couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t be there. Her accusing eyes were already haunting him. He turned, waving his wand hurriedly as he grabbed his boots. He didn’t even put them on before he left the apartment. Just left. Closed the door on her and planned to disappear into the night.

  
Hermione broke.

  
She curled up, her knees back beneath her chin again, her head down and she cried. Since she had been taken by that Snatcher she had remained as calm as she could. But now she let it out. Couldn’t help it and couldn’t stop it. Even if she’d wanted to.  
  
The tears cascaded relentlessly down her cheeks and, had he not placed the silencing charm on her once more, her cries would have echoed through the room.

Hermione felt dirty, felt used and hated herself. For what she’d done, but worst of all for what she’d felt. That kiss. That bone melting, heating her to the core- kiss… Another moment and she would have kissed him back. Would have given in to him entirely.

  
She didn’t need the threat. She would have caved, would have submitted. But that all made it so much worse. Knowing that she would have kissed him back. Knowing that sensation that had coursed through her, tying heated knots in her stomach… And then he’d given her that impossible choice.

  
Now, she just wanted to curl in on herself and completely disappear.

 

 

 

 

 

  
A/N: I did say that it wasn’t necessarily a comfortable chapter but please let me know what you think? *Hides in fear*

Tumblr: <https://gryffindorgirl7777.tumblr.com/>

Email: Gryffindorgirl2010@hotmail.co.uk

 

 

 


	10. Despair

New A/N: Hey, so I hope the last chapter didn’t scare too many people off. I’d love to hear from you all. Thanks for the kudos/dragon prints, comments and reviews.

  
Original A/N: Hey all. Sorry it's been a long time. And this is probs going to seem like a short chapter, but mixed in with chapter 11 it was just too long as one chapter :) 

So, I go in for surgery on Sunday. Thanks so much for all the emails and messages on twitter, even the guy who plays Fred Weasley in the movies wished me good luck **blush** But before I go, I thought you guys deserved an update. :) Thanks for all the support and special thanks for the fanvids that were made for me: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WUnxSHTsk7s   
This is amazing, and I can't thank the maker enough so please show your support and sub to her vids. :) And another one here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2gPmQID9raE   
Both are great so please check them out

  


Chapter Ten

  
Despair

  
Scabior felt sick. Downright sick to the stomach at himself. He was a monster, just like the others.  
  
Scabior was now sat in the dark corner of a dank and stuffy bar. No one bothered him. A few of the bar’s other occupants knew who he was, what he did, and the others had noticed the dark and foreboding aura surrounding him. No, he kept to himself, because the last thing he wanted to do was talk.

Scabior could see those eyes; those soul-burning eyes, shining back at him in the darkness. Haunting him.  
  
Rubbing at his bruised face, Scabior tried to shield his eyes with his hand, as though those eyes staring back at him would disappear. All he could do was sit, and sigh, and take a bigger gulp of the ale in front of him.  
  
The cheap and slightly stale tasting liquid did nothing to placate him. It was his own fault. He’d lost control… and she was the one who’d paid for it.

_‘I can’t!’_  
  
The Granger girl’s voice echoed through his head again, stinging just like the wound on his temple. He could see those flames in her eyes, still burning through her tears. He saw the blood on her legs and the tears staining her cheeks. He shook his head, trying to shake the memory from his head.

  
_What had he done?_  
  


He leant back in his chair, further into the shadows, where a monster like him belonged.  
  
_‘Let me keep you.’_  
  


Why had it felt so normal, so right for him to utter those words to her?  
  
The Granger girl wasn’t a pet. He knew that. Knew he couldn’t keep her. She was a fully-grown witch for fuck sake. The very thought was ridiculous… but it didn’t stop him from considering it.   
  
Scabior had to stay safe. His safety was always the priority. He had to keep himself alive. Only this time he had to make sure that she was safe too. If they both remained undiscovered, just for a while, until the insanity had calmed a little, he could find someone to sell her to. Maybe that would work. Hopefully he only needed to keep her safe until Lucius Malfoy lost interest, and then he could sell her on.

By then this… obsession? Abnormal desire? Whatever it was… by then it would be gone.  
  
So yes, he would have to keep her… but for just a little while.

 

  
                  *                  *                  *                  *

 

 

  
Hermione wept ceaselessly. She couldn’t stop the constant stream that ran down her face. The tears fell continuously, without control and after a while without reason, because she wasn’t a fool, she knew her tears wouldn’t save her.  
  
Hermione curled in on herself, thinking of Ron and of Harry, and the whole time she couldn’t rid herself of the taste of him. _Him_. The Snatcher. As she thought of Ron and could still taste _him_ , she couldn’t rid herself of the shame that crawled across her skin.

She couldn’t help but wonder if he always treated things like that so lightly?  
  
She had never, _ever_ done anything like that before and neither did she now want to do it ever again. Those encounters were supposed to occur with the one you loved, when both of you felt for each other. At least that was how she had always understood it. Now she felt tainted, robbed.   
  
Her first time doing anything like that should have been with Ron.  
  
_Oh Merlin… Ron_  
  
Just the thought of his name made her heart ache and made her weep harder. What was she going to do? How was she going to get out of there?!

For once in her life, Hermione Jean Granger had _no_ answers. All she had was tears.

  
                  *                  *                  *                  *

  
Scabior shut the door as soundlessly as he could behind him. He could feel that guilt and shame rolling into one. His skin was burning from the inside out, his wounds stinging as he moved. He paused by the door, facing it still, hesitant to turn. He hadn’t wanted to return, not to his own apartment, nor her accusing eyes. Now that he was back there both the remorse and regret roiled inside of him, coiling like a giant snake inside his stomach, making him nauseous.   
  
Guilt ridden, he pulled his boots from his feet, dropping the brown paper bag in his hands to the floor. How was he ever going to make this right? He knew the world wasn’t fair and far worse things happened to far too many people… but since when had he become that much of a monster?  
  
Scabior finally turned, the light of dawn barely showing through the shabby patterned curtains. The apartment was cast in a dim, grey light, which seemed oddly fitting for his mood. He was pretty sure it would fit hers as well.

Scabior’s brow furrowed as he looked around the room from the doorway.

She wasn’t there.  
  
For a moment his heart raced as he swiftly pulled his wand from his pocket. His eyes darted about and his ears strained for any noise. He spun around, searching behind him to check his back. He moved to open the bathroom door, checked behind the door- there was no one there.  
  
Edging closer into the room, Scabior’s eyes roamed it. The room looked like it had been ransacked. Cutlery, bowls and smashed plates hand been cast upon the floor. The kitchen table and the two kitchen chairs had been overturned. The broken cupboard door now lay on the floor, discarded. He noticed a few shards of glass remained on the floor. Some of them covered in crimson.

Blue-grey eyes traced the wood flooring of the apartment noticing smudges of blood. With a fresh wave of sickness and memories he remembered her cut legs.

_Where was she?_

The bed was empty, but that much he had expected. Scabior thought back, wishing he’d spelled that rope around her wrist again. But he had felt so sick at himself that he had left with merely a flick of his wand, casting a silencing charm. He had warded and locked the door behind him, knowing that the rest of the apartment was also charmed.  
  
There was no way she could have escaped. Without help.  
  
Scabior was on edge, walking slowly and carefully into the room, his footsteps light as usual. He was a Snatcher, a hunter, he knew how to make his presence unheard. He avoided the glass, the broken pieces of ceramic and the cutlery that all littered the floor.  
  
Was she gone? Had her little boyfriends come to take her back?  
  
As he stepped further into the room he paused, catching a glimpse of creamy coloured material behind the soft, high-backed chair he had sat in the day before, admiring her as she wore his clothes.  
  
Scabior edged carefully around the mess on the floor, the smudges that reminded him of what had occurred. He saw flashes of her face, her cut legs, the glass sticking out of his own socks. He was a monster.  
  
Scabior had to close his eyes for moment, his wand aimed in the corner of the room behind that highbacked armchair. When he opened them, the sickness washed over him anew, laced with gallons of remorse for the sin he had committed.  
  
The young woman was curled up behind the armchair, in a tight ball, but she had fallen asleep. He could barely see her face through the curtain of riotous curls that lay across it, but what he could see was tear streaked. Stained with salt. Stained with fear and misery and grief.  
  
Scabior had forced that young lady to do something she didn’t want to do. He knew it. His words repeated back to him in his head, followed by hers.  


‘ _I didn’t force you Princess.’_

_‘Yes. You did.’_  
  


He had never done anything like that before. He was surrounded by the worst of monsters and yet he’d never stooped so low. So why had he lost it with her?  
  
Scabior stood back, his legs hitting the bed before he sank down to the floor. He felt like the air had completely left his lungs as he looked at her. He stared at her, his wand still in his hand as he sat, knees bent up before him, his wrist leaning on it.

The worst thing was, that despite regretting what he’d done, he couldn’t forget how it had felt, how wonderful her wet, sweet heat had been. He could have drowned in it, would gladly do so again. Drown and suffocate in that honey-sweet taste, that vanilla aroma. She was a delicacy, but a forbidden one. One he couldn’t have. _Wouldn’t_ have. Not again.

Scabior wouldn’t let himself fall any further than he already had. He was already the scum of the Wizarding World. He was poor, too poor and too lower class. He wasn’t a fool- he knew how it worked. He answered to men like Lucius Malfoy. Men like the Malfoy’s had the status, the power, the wealth… and what did he have?

But that didn’t mean he had to act like them. He refused to be like them. The monstrous creatures that mothers warned their children about. The men who were the subject of nightmares. Although he had to work for them, had always been one with the darkness, living in the shadows; he sure as hell didn’t have to become them.

Scabior looked over the young woman before him, took in the cuts on her legs, the blood-covered glass from her socked feet that now littered the floor. The morning light was grey and dull, but it hit something that glinted, right beside her hand.  
  
Cocking his head to the side, Scabior stared at the object near her chest. Her hand lay beside it on the wooden floor, her fingers barely clasping it. He was glad for a moment that he had tied her to the bed the previous night, for it appeared that she had found a carving knife amongst his cutlery, something he had thoroughly forgotten about.  
  
He wondered briefly why he hadn’t noticed it sooner, but he knew the answer. He was too wrapped up in guilt, in shame and remorse. It had encapsulated him, and now he was drowning in that instead of her.

Scabior grabbed his old, brown waistcoat from where he’d dropped it. He pulled it on reluctantly, knowing he would have to play a part again. He was the Snatcher and she was his captive. He couldn’t fall to pieces now. He just had to put on his usual façade.

With a flick of his wand and a quiet murmur Scabior summoned the knife from her side. Once the knife was in his waistcoat pocket, he waved his wand at the kitchen before it began to right itself. The cutlery flew back into the open kitchen drawer, the broken cupboard door hung itself back up precariously on its one hinge. The broken ceramics began to piece themselves together and he couldn’t help but be entranced by them.

Would it be that easy for the Granger girl? Could she piece herself back together now he had broken her?

Scabior sighed, looking over at her once more before resting his head on his arms on top of his knees. How was he ever going to make this right? How had he managed to get himself into such a mess? And more importantly, how could he keep them both alive?

  
Hermione had cried. She sobbed for what felt like hours and then the anger came. The righteous fury fell over her like a blanket and suddenly she was trying to scream and shout. Silence echoed from her. She pulled the glass from her feet, whimpering and crying out as she did so. She left the glass in her legs; she would deal with it later. First, she needed to get out of there!  
  
Being untied she limped hurriedly over to the windows and pounded her fists against them. Although she was charmed into silence, she still screamed. She grabbed the chest of clothes, heaving it up, her muscles still suffering from Bellatrix’s torture. She threw the heavy chest at the window, shrieking as she did so and screaming when it did nothing to break them. They were reinforced, charmed.

  
Hermione hurried to the front door sure that it would be locked but went to try it all the same. Using furniture to help her, she limped and hobbled on her injured feet. She shook the door handle, pounded upon it and threw herself against it. She rushed through into the bathroom, to try the window in there again. She begged it silently to open as she shook the handle, but it remained steadfast and closed.

Hermione returned to the front door again and threw herself against it once, twice but on the third time her body was screaming at her. It didn’t budge, and all she managed to do was cause herself more pain.  
  
Worst of all… she could still taste him.  
  
She rushed to the kitchen sink and grabbed a glass, filling it with water. She drank it and then another, but the taste wouldn’t go away. The _memory_ wouldn’t leave her. She sobbed, loudly, but of course no sound was made. She wailed into the room and swiped her arm out, knocking the glass from the counter causing it to smash on the ground.

Rage overtook her and she tore at the broken cupboard door hanging off its hinge above her. Silent screams ripped from her throat as she tore it from the cupboard and threw it furiously upon the floor. _She_ couldn’t make any noise, but his belongings could. She swiped again at the kitchen chair, knocking it aside with a swoop of her arm. She grabbed the edge of the kitchen table before upturning it with a heave, her arms screaming in pain. And still the tears fell.

Sobbing, she turned back to the kitchen counter.

_Try to think Hermione… try to think…_  
  
Because all logic seemed to have abandoned her. All she could think about was that last encounter, and her hatred for the Snatcher in question.  
  
_A weapon… Find something to defend yourself with before he returns._

That sane voice inside her head was so familiar and it helped her to focus on the matter at hand, rather than the memory of what had happened.   
  
Grabbing the kitchen drawer Hermione yanked at it, letting its contents spill across the floor before she dropped the drawer amongst them. Hermione fell to her knees, her eyes searching the metallic sheen of the cutlery glinting back up at her in the dim moonlight.

_He may have taken my dignity, but I won’t let him take anything else._

Hermione rifled hastily through the cutlery, her fingers sore and some cut from the glass she had pulled from her socked feet. As much as she concentrated on the job at hand, still flashes kept haunting her, reminding her of the very thing she just wanted to forget.  
  
The whole incident kept replying itself. Parts of it flashed before her, a bit at a time and still she wept.  
  
Hermione quickly found a carving knife, the only thing she could find. It was her only weapon, and there was no way out. She backed up, facing the doorway as she held the knife up before her, ready to use it. As she stepped back, she knocked over the other kitchen chair, whimpering as she fell against it, unstable on her feet.

Hermione looked around at the mess she had made, knowing it wouldn’t help her, wouldn’t save her, and that was what she needed… saving.  
  
_Godric, help her, but where was Ron? Where was Harry? Why hadn’t they saved her?_  
  
Hermione wanted to hide but there was no where to do so. She seriously considered crawling beneath the bed, but she needed to be able to move, to use the carving knife on the Snatcher when he returned. She hadn’t fulfilled his deal after all. What they’d done had been bad enough for her, but it wasn’t sex.

Hermione swallowed thickly, moving to hide behind the armchair, gripping the handle of the carving knife tightly. Quite suddenly her crying stopped. She slid down the back of the chair, collapsing on the wooden floor, which was painted with splotches of her blood.   
  
She saw the mess before her, like the mess she had found herself in.  
  
_How had she gotten here? How had she gotten into this mess?_ _Why weren’t they coming for her?_  
  
Tears fell again, silent as ever, this time slowly, despairingly as she sat, slouched against the back of that armchair. All she could do was stare ahead of herself, not really seeing. Her hand gripped the knife tightly; the rest of her was limp, numb and cold. She needed to lie down, just for a little while, because holding herself up hurt. She was tired. So tired. She just needed a little rest. She’d wake when he returned, she assured herself. He was bound to go mad at the state of the place after all.  
  
Hermione curled up, barely registering the pain in her body, just the grief. She lay with her cheek against the cold, wooden floor, soaking it with her tears. She curled in, her legs still exposed, but there was nothing she could do about that.

What an idiot she had been. What a fool, for feeling as she had. She couldn’t forget that bone melting, breath stealing kiss and how she had been about to kiss back. She felt sick at herself. Sick at him. But it was too late. All she could do was regret her choice. Maybe Malfoy Manor would have been better? Maybe she’d be tortured and killed, but Lucius Malfoy would never touch her like _he_ had. She was a Mudblood, poison to him. He wouldn’t go near her, would he? Not like the Snatcher had… Lucius wouldn’t touch her… not like he had… not like he had...  
  
Darkness answered her… and it must have been a while later that it woke her. 

 


	11. Dealings

 

New A/N: Hope you’re liking the edits and the posts. Please let me know what you think.  
I just wanted to confirm that the original A/Ns are from when I first posted to AFF. There are messages in a lot of them, like on this one, where I say thank you to certain people. I didn’t want to lose that because they deserve them. However, I am not currently awaiting surgery, though I am still recovering from an accident I was in four years ago that left me bedbound. I am doing so much better but it’s still slow going.  
That being said, thank you so much for all your lovely and supportive comments. They’ve really encouraged me to continue.

Thank you Skye for being my ass-kicking Beta-reader. You’re a star!

  
Original A/N: Oh boys and girls you are lucky :) Two updates in two days! Wow, that's good for me. I also made a vid for you all.   
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jn_xt8_iLHM  
I have my op tomorrow and my friend on twitter made this for me:  
http://twitpic.com/50kgwl You can find her on twitter at :@thefanficawards. She writes marvellous fanfics :) 

 

  
Chapter Eleven.

  
** Dealings.**

  
Scabior had sat and watched her sleep. A mixture of pain and exhaustion kept her there, in that land where nothing could hurt her. So, he left her to dwell there. He let her sleep as he righted his room but left the bloodstains on the floor- a reminder to himself. A reminder of what he had become, would become, if he lost control again.

Levitating the armchair carefully and silently, he moved it away from the sleeping form of the young woman he had wronged. He tucked the armchair back and out of the way in the corner of the room. He wanted to be able to see what she was doing.  
  
Scabior returned to the hallway, collecting the big, brown paper bag he had dropped upon his return. He pulled a can from the top of the bag and set it on the kitchen top, waving his wand at the cutlery drawer he’d replaced. He set about filling the kettle and pulling a pan down from the broken cupboard. He was careful to be quieter than usual, but he still made some noise, it was unavoidable. He couldn’t sit and do nothing till she woke. It was killing him.  
  
As Scabior poured the contents of the can into the saucepan he sensed movement from behind the armchair. He froze for a moment before slowly turning around to face her.  
  
Scabior watched, as the girl stirred from her sleep, frowning as she moved. He presumed it was pain that vexed her, but not all of it would be physical. He had made his task with her so much more difficult now. She would fear him, fight him, and hate him. Then again, perhaps that was better than before. Better for him, better for her.  
  
But all the same, he still had to keep her.  
  
Scabior watched from the kitchen area as her eyelashes flickered, her hand reaching up slowly to brush the hair from her eyes. His eyes moved to the bandage on her arm, reminding him of his other crimes. He had done nothing but hurt her.

The Mudblood’s eyes suddenly widened, like a flash of realization had suddenly hit her. He watched her body move as she scrambled, all limbs as she backed against the wall, her eyes searched the room wildly.  
  
Finally they fell on him… Those wide and wet and angry eyes.  
  
Silence stretched between them as the grey day barely lit the room. Scabior saw her hand twitch as her angry eyes watered. She glanced at the floor hurriedly, searching it.  
  
“Lookin’ for this?” With a crisp comment and a swift movement, he pulled the knife from his waistcoat pocket. He watched as her eyes flared before narrowing. She was glowering at him, practically radiating her hatred for him.  
  
“Little girls shouldn’t play with knives,” he stated before slamming it down into the kitchen counter beside him. He saw her jump before he let go of the handle, the blade now in the wood of the counter.  
  
“I suggest yer don’t try that again love.” He remarked, watching as she shook with anger. He could still feel the guilt weaving its way around his stomach as he looked at her, but he had to ignore it.  
  
Scabior turned his back to her, lighting the stove before flicking his wand over his shoulder in her direction. With a murmur her silencing charm was released, and he prepared himself for the onslaught.  
  
_How could he?_  
  
_How could he act so… so… indifferent and heartless?_  
  
Hermione stood, her fists clenched, facing his back. She was shaking with anger but there was nothing she could do. Not when he was ignoring her like that. He had taken the knife from her. She swore silently to herself; she should never have let herself curl up. If she hadn’t fallen asleep, she might have been able to use that knife on him. Turned the tables and made him release her from that wretched place.  
  
He wasn’t saying anything… and it only made her feel worse. How could he have the audacity to face her, without a word about what had occurred, without an apology? How could he have the audacity to act so normal around her?  
  
Hermione’s eyes watered again as she shook, her jaw beginning to hurt from where she clenched her teeth together.  
  
“How dare you?”

The words came out lowly, a low growl more than anything. Her throat stung from the silent screams she had let out in her rage, but she ignored it, like the pain in her feet.  
  
Hermione watched as the Snatcher stilled before turning slowly back to her. He lent back against the unit and folded his arms. He merely looked at her cynically, as though he was waiting for her to get it over with.  
  
It only made her madder, and with her anger came more tears.  
  
“How _dare_ you?” She was louder this time, more forceful. But he said nothing as she swiped the tears away from her eyes with her hand. “How dare you do that to me and just act like… like nothing happened?”  
  
The Granger girl’s voice sounded torn, like her throat was raw. Like she had been screaming and sobbing long into the night. He didn’t doubt that was exactly what she’d done, whether anyone could hear it or not.

Scabior hid the guilt, hid the remorse as he stood there. He raised his eyebrows at her, kept his face blank, that empty mask. He had to show that he was in control; despite knowing he had lost it completely the previous evening.  
  
Suddenly she was hurrying towards him, her socked feet padding across the glass-free floor. He noticed briefly that she limped, guessed her feet were cut from the glass, just like her legs were. He let her storm towards him. Watched, still leaning, arms still folded as her wet, angry eyes glared daggers into his.

Then small fists were beating against him. His sharp eyes caught the blood on her fingers and the burning of her watery eyes. She was tired, exhausted despite her sleep, he could tell because as she hit out at him, he barely felt it. Or maybe he’d just gone numb?

Scabior stood, let her hit him and watched as she closed her eyes, letting out a heart wrenching sob, the tears falling.  
  
He swallowed down the guilt.  
  
Hermione stormed over to him, ignoring the cuts on her feet. She was so mad, so angry at him and at herself. She just wanted to hit him. To make him pay for what he’d done. For what he did, and how he coerced her into submitting to him. But the Snatcher let her hit him, looking utterly unfazed and it only made her feel worse.

Hermione pounded her fists against his chest, too small and weak against him. She couldn’t help it, despite herself, she let out a sob. She felt sick at him, but so much worse at herself. She had been so close, so close to giving in; to giving into the feelings that he had elicited from her body.

  
Hermione closed her eyes and let out a cry, because her fists were doing nothing, and she had never felt so weak before. So helpless, and she truly was, because this man could do as he pleased with her- had proven that- and there was no one there to stop him.  
  
Scabior watched as her body sagged slightly, swallowing again as she cried. The sound of her broken cry seemed to echo around the room, making him feel worse. It was worse than the cry of a trapped and wounded animal. So much worse.

Scabior saw her knees begin to fail her and hurriedly grabbed her upper arms to keep her from falling to the floor.  
  
“Get off of me!” she shrieked at him, her voice hoarse. “Let me go!” Her sobs still filled the room.  
  
“Sit down.” He growled, losing patience with her, only because she was making him feel worse than before.  
  
“Let go!”  
  
“Sit _down_!”  
  
Finally he pushed her down into the kitchen chair where she sat, her hands over her face as she sobbed.  
  
Hermione hated herself.  
  
For how she’d felt. For what she’d done and for crying in front of him. For showing weakness in front of him. For flying off the handle in her fury, when she so very often counselled Ron on not doing the same.  
  
She didn’t know what was worse.  
  
Scabior watched awkwardly for a moment as she cried into her hands, a few fingers covered in dry blood. Her hair was a mess, her bandage had blood seeping through it, and she was inconsolable. He didn’t know what to do, or what to say.  
  
As heartless as it was, he turned back to the stove, stirring the contents of the pan. He could hear her sniffing, sobbing sounds over the sound of bubbling liquid. He had no clue how to fix the situation. it had been a big enough mess in the first place and all he’d done was make things worse.  
  
Scabior tried to ignore the sniffing sounds that came from the table behind him, ignoring the twangs of something close to pain he felt in his chest. He rubbed his hand over his chest absentmindedly, aware that he needed to do something about the new injuries he’d obtained. They were the reason things had gone so far south. Because the Malfoys liked to demonstrate their power over everybody else.

Scabior concentrated only on the contents of the pan, watching it bubble away as he occasionally stirred it. Yet, eventually it was cooked, and he knew he had nothing else to distract himself with. Reaching up, he grabbed a bowl from the cupboard.

  
_Make him go away. Just let this be a dream, a nightmare. I’m really in the tent. I’m back with Harry and Ron… dreaming… Please let this be a nightmare… Please make it all go away. All of it. Everything… Especially him._

  
“Here.” Hermione’s thoughts came to a sudden stop and she pulled her head up from her hands, startled as something settled on the kitchen table beside her. She immediately went to get up, to remove herself from his proximity, but he stepped away. She stared down to see he had placed a bowl of, what looked to be, lamb hotpot before her.  
  
The sickening feeling coiled around her stomach, because this… this misguided gesture was just too much on top of everything else. Did he really think that this would make it all better? Did he really think that serving her one meal was going to make up for what he’d done the night before? She couldn’t stand it and couldn’t understand how he could have such galling audacity. To act like nothing had happened and like nothing was wrong.  
  
“Eat up.” The Snatcher murmured from where he stood against the kitchen counter. But she wouldn’t look at him, couldn’t bear to see his smug, cynical face. But she hated him even more for the new dilemma he had placed before her. She didn’t want to accept a thing from that monster, and yet she hadn’t eaten properly in days.

“I’m not hungry.” She lied, ignoring the pang of disappointment that rumbled through her stomach.  
  
“You’ve barely eaten anythin’ in the past few days. Did yer even have a decent meal before we caught yer?” The Snatcher sneered at her.  
  
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t want it.” Hermione spoke bluntly. She sounded rude and angry, something that caused that sensible voice at the back of her head to scold her, but she didn’t care.  
  
Scabior’s eyebrows rose.  
  
_Stubborn little chit._  
  
“You’re my property now ‘n’ I won’t let yer starve yourself…” He growled at her. Annoyed at her but more at himself. “Yer won’t be worth anythin’ if you’re dead.”

The young woman’s eyes suddenly flew up to meet his. Her eyes were fiery, that anger replacing her sadness. Suddenly his wand was pointed between her and the bowl, knowing her habit of throwing hot liquids at him and sure enough her hands had moved. She’d grabbed the edge of the bowl, ready to throw it and the food in his direction.

 

Hermione was furious. How dare he? She had grabbed for the bowl, prepared to sacrifice the first meal she’d had in days, if only she could throw it in his conceited face. But she froze, her eyes moving to the wand that he had aimed at her in the briefest of seconds. She looked up at him, glaring, her fingers tightening on the bowl.  
  
The wild-haired Snatcher warned her with a look, just a flash of something in his eyes. She couldn’t mess around this time. Those stern and piercing eyes told her that he had no tolerance for that kind of behaviour today. Although she wanted to throw it at him with all her might, she didn’t want anything else to happen to her. Not like it had the night before.  
  
“Just… eat.” The Snatcher’s expression was severe, his voice harsh and grating. He sounded almost like a teacher giving instructions, but this was one instruction that Hermione Granger wasn’t going to follow. Not from him. No way.  
  
Scabior could see the defiance burning in her eyes. She was seething with anger all aimed at him, and well deserved. She was obviously planning on being nothing but disobedient today.  
  
“Yer know love, there’s plenty of charms that’d force feed yer if yer don’t do as you’re told.”

Scabior watched as the fear hit her, probably square in the stomach. Her eyes were flicking up and down his form, trying to size him up. Trying to work out if he could really do what he was threatening.  
  
Merlin help her, she hated him. Hated, hated, _hated_ him! Hermione glowered, seething silently at him before picking up the spoon within the bowl. Fine. She would eat, if only to keep what little was left of her dignity. He was never going to force her to do anything again. Not ever!  
  
Scabior felt her eyes shooting daggers at his back whilst he pretended to tidy things in the kitchen. He began to boil the water on the stove, ready to wash up using the muggle method because he needed something other than the silence to distract him. The hot tap in the kitchen had been broken for a long time, it still annoyed him, but it wasn’t important enough to worry about. She was. He knew she was going to rebel and fight against him at every opportunity now, and it was going to make things a lot riskier for them both.  
  
Scabior sighed, exhausted. Merlin why had he been so fucking stupid? With just one word she could end this. End all of it. If she really hated him that much, all she had to do was whisper the Dark Lord’s name, and that would be it. He’d be a dead man… and she would be so much worse than dead.

Awkward silence dragged between them as Hermione ate the food. Although her body was grateful for it, she couldn’t be. It tasted like ash in her mouth. She had trouble swallowing it past the lump in her throat. She had to wipe the silent tears that rolled down her cheeks a couple of time. Didn’t want him to see. Not that he was looking at her.

Once the food was finished the Snatcher took the bowl from her, moving quickly away from her. Neither of them attempted to make eye contact. They just let the silence flow. Tension stretched between them once the washing up was done, and Scabior knew he had to turn back to her, talk to her. Act like nothing had happened.  
  
Scabior turned back to her. Finally, he let his eyes settle on her properly. Her hair was a riotous mess, tangled from where he’d grasped it the night before, and from where she hadn’t brushed it. The cream t-shirt still swamped her, caressing her creamy skin, but he realized she must be cold, had been cold all night. Then he cocked his head, glanced at the cuts on her legs.  
  
Turning to the sink, Scabior began pouring clean, hot water into the, now clean bowl she had eaten from. He carried the bowl of hot water over to her, hovering awkwardly about a foot away.

 _What the hell was he doing?_  
  
Hermione was trying not to look up at him. Tried to keep her eyes from his. But it was hard. He was hovering above her, as she sat stoically. But he had moved towards her and every instinct in her was telling her to prepare to run. When she looked up however, she saw that he had a bowl of hot water in his hands. What was he doing?  
  
“Give me your arm a minute.” The Snatcher’s murmur made her flinch and lean away from him. She kept her bandaged arm away from him as best as she could, cradling it with her right hand. She heard him half sigh, half growl before his hand reached out to grab her arm. She let out a bit of a cry but fell silent when he grabbed her uninjured arm instead.  
  
“What are you doing?” she exclaimed, but he didn’t reply.  
  
The Snatcher suddenly ripped at her sleeve, tearing the creamy material. She looked up at him despite herself, wide eyed and confused. He let himself glance up, just for a moment. Those deep brown eyes, so fiery with anger… and yet they were still so red from crying. He tore his eyes away, undeserving.  
  
_Undeserving._  
  
That was how he felt as he knelt beside her, as she cowered slightly from him. He dipped the scrap of material into the hot water and reached out slowly.  
  
This young woman was like a wild animal; he had to be slow, careful and cautious, otherwise she would bolt. As he looked up, his eyes mostly hidden behind his hair, he saw that she looked exactly like a cornered rabbit. Which made him the wolf.

The young woman’s lips were parted, her eyes wide in both confusion and fear.

 _What was he doing?_  
  
Hermione sat in stunned silence, questioning why she wasn’t moving. Why was she letting him do this? It was taking her too long to find her voice, to find words to spit and hiss and yell at him. She was about to say something, finally when his fingers stroked the skin on the back of her calf making her flinch. Slowly his hand held onto her leg as his other hand reached out, sliding the wet material gently over the cuts on her leg.  
  
_Merlin, she hated him._  
  
Scabior deftly plucked the last few shards of glass remaining in her leg from her skin. He couldn’t make eye contact with her; he just focused on wiping the blood away, stroking her skin.  
  
It was like he was entranced. The wet cloth slipped over her smooth skin, his fingers caressing it slightly as he did so. He couldn’t help himself. He wanted to show her comfort like he had the other day as he’d tended to her other wound. He wanted to show her and remind himself that he could be kind and gentle.  
  
The hand holding the back of her leg began to stroke up and down, almost without him realizing. Soft, slow, soothing strokes. As his fingers brushed the back of her knee, he heard her gasp, felt her jolt, and the enchantment was broken.

Scabior’s eyes met hers, uneasy as she stared back. Her eyes were too wide, too fearful. He hated that. He stepped away, hurriedly putting the cloth back into the bowl of water. He turned and headed quickly into the bathroom, leaving her to stare after him.

Hermione tried to ignore the tingle that now ran through her. She didn’t understand why she’d frozen like that. She hated him, with a burning passion. But then he’d stroked behind her knee and it had elicited a response from her body. After everything he’d done why could he still make her feel like that?  
  
Hermione watched as he returned to the room with a sigh. He had a roll of fresh bandages in his hand and his flask under his arm. He was heading directly towards her and was looking at her injured arm. Hermione looked down and saw that blood had begun to seep through the bandage.  
  
“No.” Hermione’s voice sounded too small after all her angry yelling. “I don’t need…” She began but he fixed her with his stern- don’t fuck me about-gaze. Hermione considered running, in fact she got to her feet, but he sighed angrily and forced her down again.

“Sit down in the chair or I’ll tie yer to it.” The Snatcher threatened with a growl. She knew he’d make real on that threat, so she remained in her seat, defeated. Hermione struggled a little when he knelt beside her again and grabbed her injured arm. She bit down on her bottom lip as she looked away from him.

Scabior glanced up at her when she looked away, saw how she dug her teeth down on her bottom lip as he began to unwrap the dirty bandage from her arm. He went to work quickly, holding tightly to her wrist as he poured some of the alcohol from his flask onto her arm. She struggled again, as expected but the ordeal was no where near as bad as it had been the day before.

It only took a few minutes to get the wound clean and although she had whimpered and hissed in pain, he was surprised that the Granger girl hadn’t hit out at him violently. He’d certainly prepared for it. He rather suspected that she was trying not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her in pain.

Scabior wrapped a clean bandage around her arm, casting dirt repelling and water-proofing charms on the bandages. He ignited the bloodstained bits of cloth with a flick of his wand and rinsed the bowl out in the sink. He filled it carefully with cold water and used the last of the cloth he had ripped from the girl, to dab the cold water onto his own injuries.

The bruises on his face and body had gone down thanks to his charms but he had yet to wipe the dirt and dried blood from his face. He paid particular attention to the wound on his head and was relieved when the Granger girl sat still and silent. It made his life easier.  
  
Scabior placed a dressing on his temple and ignited the bloodstained cloth. He washed out the bowl he had used in the sink and then turned. He faced the girl, leaning back against the kitchen counter. He crossed his arms and surveyed her carefully.  
  
“The way I see it…”  
  
When he suddenly spoke Hermione couldn’t help but jump from her reverie.

“We can do this one of two ways…”  
  
Though he remained where he was standing, she still didn’t like where he was going with those words.  
  
“Either yer can do as you’re told ‘n’ I shall keep you safe from Lucius, as per our deal…”  
  
She was surprised at that, because she hadn’t fulfilled the deal yet. Not fully. Not that she ever intended on doing so. She was repulsed by him and what he’d made her do.  
  
“ _Or_ we can do things the hard way. If yer misbehave, or don’t do as you’re told, I’m handin’ yer over right away. I won’t put up with any of your drama… understand?”  
  
Hermione’s teeth were clenched so tight that she heard them beginning to grind. Her eyes were frustratinly beginning to water in anger. Her hands were fisting into balls on her lap.

 _How dare he?_  


That Snatcher was the cause of her so-called drama! It was because of him that she had responded in such a way! He was the reason she had screamed and shouted and cried! He was the reason she wanted to escape!  
  
“You get that I hate you, right?”

The Granger girl bit out angry words through clenched teeth and he was sure he could see the same memories flashing through her eyes that were running through his head. It seemed that compliance was all that she had left. He knew she was smart, and she seemed to know, that as much as she hated him, compliance was better than Lucius Malfoy and a host of Death Eaters.  
  
And fuck it, he still couldn’t help but breathe her in.  
  
Yes, Hermione was smart. She knew she had to comply. Realistically she understood that if she was handed over to Lucius Malfoy then he would torture her, either for information, or just for fun. When he was done, if she wasn’t dead, she’d be handed to the Deatheaters. The Deatheaters would torture her until she told them what she knew. Until she gave away what they knew about Voldemort’s Horcruxes. She wouldn’t give up that information easily, but she wasn’t naive enough to think that they wouldn’t find a million different ways to get her to do so. That was something she never wanted to risk.

Rationally she knew all of this… but it didn’t stop her from wishing it wasn’t so.  
  
However, she was still surprised, still didn’t fully understand what had made him agree to keep her safe. After all she knew what his deal entailed, and she had yet to comply and give in to the rest of it. So, what did this mean? Was that why he was keeping her? To make her comply with the rest of it as and when he wanted?  
  
“Yeah, you’ve made that much pretty clear Sweetheart.”

The Snatcher replied but had turned away from her. She frowned as he kept his eyes on the ground beside him. “I’m gonna take that as a; ‘ _Yes Scabior, we’ll do this the easy way.’”_  
  
Although he wasn’t looking, although she wasn’t anywhere in his line of sight, he still felt her. Felt her fury, her hatred, her frustration, but also her undeniable realisation that her life currently lay inside _his_ hands. He could feel it flowing from her, that unease, the knowledge that no one could save her, and that he could do anything.  
  
He sighed, shifting, deciding to get it over with.  
  
“Go and stand by the bed.”  
  
Those words froze Hermione’s blood; she felt her heart still as panic rose within her. She watched with wide eyes as he stalked into the hallway, because that Snatcher never seemed to just walk anywhere. He was a predator and he walked like one- stalking.

The terror rose inside her, because it was all too obvious that she hadn’t held out on her end of the deal. So, was that what he wanted? He wanted _her_ , right _now_? She had hoped she’d have more time. More time to plan to get away. To defend herself.  
  
Hermione’s feet had moved, her body unknowingly followed as her heart pounded again. She limped over to the bed, closing her eyes as she swallowed down her fear. This time her heartbeat seemed to crash against her chest, steady as she steeled herself, but pounding furiously all the same.  
  
The Snatcher returned from the hallway, and no, she wouldn’t call him by his name, even though she now knew it. He didn’t deserve for her to address him as anything but what he was and as far as she was concerned Snatchers weren’t a far cry away from Deatheaters

Hermione’s eyes were held captive by his. Ice blue and grey. Cold and sharp like glaciers. Her gaze didn’t move from his as his body came closer, slowly again. She felt the strange tingle ignite inside her once again; just as before, as his body heat crept closer in distance to hers. They weren’t even touching, and still she felt it, almost shivered with that mix of fear, uncertainty and anticipation.  
  
His eyes were giving nothing away.  
  
Scabior watched as he neared her, her body stock still, tense and there against her will. He could see her legs tremble slightly as he neared her, could tell that she was forcing herself to stand tall. She was obeying him only because she wished to survive. He both appreciated and hated that.  
  
Life would be easier; things would run smoother, if she obeyed him like this. Like a pet… like he owned her. But he didn’t, and he wouldn’t want to. He didn’t want to quell that fire that blazed inside those eyes. He didn’t want to see those salt stained cheeks or feel her fear beside him like this. But he felt the fear and trepidation washing off her as he neared, and even though he stood close, he kept his distance. Needed to if he was ever going to get that fear to ebb away again.  
  
Scabior watched as those eyes she had been staring at him with closed. She clenched her eyelids shut and seemed to steel herself, prepared for something, but he had no idea what. So, he waited, waited until she slowly opened one eye to look up at him, alarm and confusion shining from it.  
  
“Got this for you.” His voice was quiet, before he shoved the paper bag into her hands. She almost dropped it in surprise; both her eyes now open in alarm.

“Wha-” she began, but he cut her off.  
  
“Put these on.”

Hermione looked down to see he held the laces of her boots in his hand. She glanced back up at him, awaiting a further explanation.  
  
“Now.”  
  
But she received none.  
  
Hurriedly she scrambled into the boots, her feet still sore, stinging and slightly wet from the blood that oozed from each cut as the skin stretched and they reopened. Her fingers trembled a little as she tried to lace the boots up at first. He had thrown her through a loop. She’d been preparing herself mentally for… Not that it seemed to matter now.

Hermione soon stood before him, picking up the bag from the bed again, wearing her boots, his socks and his top. She could still feel a chill despite the large vest beneath the large, creamy top that now had one sleeve completely ripped from it.

“Wha…?” she began to breathe, but a green glimmer cut her off. She looked down at her wrist, startled at the magical rope that was now snaked around it once more. Hermione held the bag tightly to herself. Her eyes followed the rope with her eyes as it led from being tied around her wrist, along a short length before it was bundled in the Snatcher’s hand.  
  
Scabior watched her as she realized her new situation. He couldn’t help but smirk at her as she looked up at him once again. The look of horror and confusion on her face was just too delightful.  
  
“What are you doing?” Hermione breathed up at him.  
  
The man towered over her, smelling slightly of stale ale and old cigarettes and, still- somehow-that scent of evergreens hung around him. The scent was too close to her, too full of memories she wanted to forget. _He_ was too close to her and having the rope around the damaged skin of her wrist again wasn’t helping either.  
  
“You’ll see.” The Snatcher smirked down at her, before suddenly his hand was grasping her arm tightly. Before she realized his wand was in his hand, the world began to tilt, began to spin.  
  
She was apparating.

 

  
A/N original: Please let me know what you think.   
P.S. This and the previous chapter were put into two because of pacing reasons. xx

 


	12. Leaving

 

[](https://imgur.com/NkqoylT)

New A/N: Wow, I read the old author’s note and remember how serious the complications from surgery were. I’m really lucky guys. Thank you so much for so many wonderful comments on this fic both on these sites and on tumblr. Its great to be accepted into a community full of HP lovers. I’m working hard on these edits and made a few fairly sizable changes or add-ons. Nothing that would mess with the narrative of the fic though. Anyway, I hope you’re enjoying it. Please feed my addiction with comments and reviews. I crave validation guys lol. Thank you again Skye for being a kick-ass Beta-reader.

  
Original A/N: Hey all! Sorry for the delay, but my body has gone into shock after two serious surgeries in the past month. I also had serious complications after the first op. However, I’m still enjoying writing this fic v. v. much and your support and encouragement has been amazing. It’s definitely made me write more when I’ve received your mail and msges.  
  
So, here you go all. The next chapter. Working on chapter 13 as we speak.

 

  
**Chapter Twelve.**

  
**Leaving.**

 

  
Hermione was apparating.

There’s something about apparating, that for a split second, every time, makes you forget where you are and what you’re doing. All that matters in that moment is that you feel like your body is being forced through a tube which is all too small for you to fit. It wasn’t always that it hurt- although because she was injured her arm was searing with pain- it was more a sensation of intense pressure that covered your entire body.  
  
The spinning came to a sudden stop and Hermione slammed into something wet and cold, the wind knocked out of her. She panted into whatever it was she had landed on as she took a second to remember what was going on.  
  
Less than a minute ago, she had been standing in the Snatcher’s apartment, scared of what he was about to do, of how far he would go to entail she kept her end of his deal and then the next minute she had been slammed into…  
  
Snow.  
  
Hermione blinked at the wet, cold blanket of snow that she had fallen into.  
  
_What the-_  
  
But suddenly something yanked at Hermione’s wrist, breaking her from her reverie. She scrambled, as her arm was yanked back by the rope that was tied around her wrist. She managed to get back onto her feet, which was a good job, as the Snatcher behind her pulled on the other end of the charmed rope in his hand.  
  
Hermione rubbed at her wrist with her free hand, careful not to touch the charmed rope that was tied around her. She watched angrily as the Snatcher stooped to pick up the paper bag she had dropped as she’d fallen.

Now that the shock of suddenly apparating had worn off, Hermione shivered violently. She looked around at their surroundings. Trees crowded around them, some empty but for branches laced with snow. Others were thick, evergreens but they too had a thick and heavy coating of snow on them. They were back in a forest.  
  
“Oi!” The Snatcher had stomped closer to her and shoved the paper bag back into her hands again. “Hold it!” She staggered as her boots sunk into the snow, deep and uneven beneath her. The hair on her body stood on end and her breath came up before her. She was cold. Hermione looked up at the Snatcher, saw that he had realised, but he merely looked away again.

Scabior turned away from her, realising that she was barely dressed, but he had more serious matters to worry about. She’d survive the journey they had to make. It wasn’t too far. He was too busy remaining alert. His eyes were tracing the forest surrounding them, thinking only of getting the both of them to safety.  
  
The Snatcher turned and began to hurriedly and almost noiselessly stomp across the snow. Crisp and crunching noises echoed around them as Hermione was forced to follow. He was faster than she was, his long legs used to the uneven terrain as they climbed a steep hill, careful of large roots from the trees around them. She was not as quick, nor was she as quiet.

The Snatcher kept storming ahead of her. He would tug at the rope as she stumbled, struggling. Usually, with Harry and Ron, she had been the one to stride ahead, lighter and able to avoid the obstacles that littered the forest floor. But this time, in comparison with this Snatcher, this apparent being of the forest, this time even she was struggling.

Hermione kept looking about, trying to work out where they were. The forest’s trees were closer together, the ground more than uneven… and it was cold. It was bitter cold as she struggled on, her head beginning to hurt, along with the rest of her body.  Either they had gone further north or- she swallowed the lump in her throat- or they weren’t in the UK anymore.

The realisation had hit Hermione hard. She kept looking at the trees, trying to recognise if they were native to England or not. Her heart felt like it was being squeezed within a vice as she thought about Harry and Ron and what she would do if she was now even further apart from them.  
  
Hermione had no idea where they were and no matter how many times she tried to question the Snatcher, he would cut her off, demanding that she be quiet.

The terrain began to even out, and Scabior looked back, watching the Mudblood struggle onwards. He still felt bad, still felt guilty, but for once, she was obeying him. He had told her to shut up a couple of times as they hiked onward.

Scabior was busy straining his ears listening for the sound of snapping twigs, crunching leaves, or anything that might betray other Snatchers or Deatheaters in the vicinity. So far it didn’t seem like they were being followed. They appeared to be alone. They were getting lucky.

They came across the brook that ran through the middle of the forest, a place that Scabior knew like the back of his hand. A place where he felt safe- where he could keep her safe.

Scabior tugged at the rope again as she slowed. He stopped, waiting for her as she staggered on behind him. He could _hear_ her shivering behind him, but it wouldn’t be long, they’d be there soon.  
  
Hermione had noticed how easily he had avoided obstacles upon the forest floor. She had noticed how little amount of sound he made as he moved around. But she failed to see how he could avoid the brook.  
  
Hermione stilled as he waved his wand at the rope. For a split second she dared to think he was letting her go. She thought of freedom and so was more than disappointed when all he did was lengthen the amount rope between her and him. But before she could move, before her frozen legs would carry her, he had jumped from the high bank, lithely down onto a log in the brook. The log barely moved, bobbing ever so slightly as one of his boots landed on it for only a second, before it was gone. Having used the floating log as a springboard, he was now on the other side of the brook, waiting on the bank for her.  
  
Hermione looked at the distance between the two of them and took the opportunity. She turned, pulling at the rope of her wrist, hoping as she hurried away from the bank, the brook and from him. But after two steps he was yanking on the rope again, almost tearing her arm from its socket.  
  
She cried out before shouting.

“Okay! I get it! Stop it! Okay!”  
  
The Snatcher stopped, waiting silently as she looked at the brook. She was bitterly cold, her head hurt from it, her nose sore. The last thing she wanted was to fall into the icy water. She edged closer to the brook for a moment before backing up a few inches. She wasn’t as graceful or athletic as him. There was no way that she _wasn’t_ going to fall into that icy cold water.  
  
“I’m not gettin’ any younger over ‘ere.” The Snatcher called back at her impatiently. She glanced up, before turning back to the water, edging closer to the edge of the high bank.  
  
“I… I can’t!” She called back, inching away again.  
  
“Don’t be an idiot!” The Scabior growled impatiently. The more they went on shouting, the more likely there were to be caught if there was anyone nefarious in the area.  
  
“I-I’m not!” She called back, her voice stammering as she shivered violently.  
  
Hermione heard him sigh as the cold stung and bit at her skin. Then she saw it, watched it happen as if in slow motion before she felt it. He lent forward, grabbing the rope that stretched between them and pulled, hard.  
  
With the violent tug that almost tore her arm off, Hermione fell forward down the bank, her legs moving to keep up with the momentum of the top half of her body. Once she’d skidded down the bank, reaching the edge of the water, her leg stretched out as she panicked. She hoped her foot would hit the log and not the water. She felt herself dip slightly and heard a splash as her boot forced one end of the log into the water. But there was suddenly another pull from the other side of the brook and before she knew it, her face was pressed against something firm and warm.  
  
Instinctively he had reached out for her, pulling her in to him, his arms wrapping around her. He felt her violent shivers, the cold from her skin seeping through his clothes and into him. His fingers were pressed to her upper and lower back and he had to remind himself of how they had ended up in this situation.

He looked down at her, her face pressed against his chest. She seemed to be taking more than a moment pressed against him, sharing the heat of his body. Her messy, tangled mane of hair blew in the breeze and despite her having used his shampoo, she still smelled like her. All vanilla and innocence.  
  
Hermione stood there, a moment longer than she should, letting his heat warm her skin as she breathed in his scent. The scent of the forest surrounded them, she smelt the leather of his waistcoat as her cold nose was so close to it. There was something else. Another smell. It was the scent of the very thing she hated most… and the scent that made her heart beat faster.  
  
They stood there for a moment as he let her heartbeat return to normal after the sudden jump. He looked down at her, at the top of her head, as she stood there, frozen. Her hands were in fists, pressed against his chest and he could feel the cold seeping through it. He needed to get her into the warm.  
  
Suddenly Hermione felt him move and she scrambled away. Numb.  
  
Hermione felt the loss of his warmth almost immediately, and something else as he stepped away. He turned back to her quickly and she froze again, too much like a damn startled rabbit. She didn’t like it. She was a Gryffindor for goodness sake! Where was her lioness courage when she needed it? She was supposed to be bold and brave was she not? Instead she was a frightened rabbit.  
  
Despite her bitter thoughts and feelings, the Snatcher before her, that had been so cruel the night before, did something she really didn’t expect.  
  
Hermione felt his heat draw closer again before he stopped, inches away from her skin. A lump formed in her throat as his scent engulfed her once again, before he pulled his waistcoat from his back.  
  
Why did she have no words? Why did he seem to steal them all away? Where she had screamed and shouted at him before, now she was silent. Silent, scared, and waiting.  
  
But he surprised her. Without one word between them, the Snatcher looked down at her, their eyes catching again. She was so engaged by that glimmer inside those blue and grey eyes of his, trying to interpret what that glimmer was and what it meant. She was so busy gazing up at him numbly, that she didn’t realize until she felt the warmth from it, that he had slipped his waistcoat over her shoulders.  
  
Hermione stood, silent and shocked as he walked away again. She couldn’t deny it. She was extremely grateful for it. As little protection it gave her from the elements, it was still something more than what she already had. It didn’t cover much, but it still held some of his warmth in it… and, annoyingly, his scent.  
  
Hermione carried on silently behind him, choosing to ignore how she was obeying him. He didn’t even have to pull on the rope anymore, she was too cold. She would follow him, if only to stay closer to that warmth, hoping that the fire-like sensation that he ignited in her belly would linger, keeping her from the bitter winter temperature surrounding them.  
  
After a while the Snatcher stopped, crouching behind a bush. She did the same, unsure of the situation and unwilling to put herself in more danger. She peered through the shrubbery, looking for some sign of motion, her ears straining.

They seemed to crouch there forever, the Snatcher staring endlessly through the leaves. She was shivering violently, having given up on watching him, or the _nothing_ that had him staring, like he was somehow entranced.

It was his eyes that had held her at first; staring, like a predator. She knew that look, knew it well in fact. But this time, he barely blinked, did not want to miss a thing.

By the time the Snatcher straightened, Hermione was shivering, her teeth clenched together to prevent them from chattering. She had been running through potions and ingredients in her head, ones that would make the Snatcher’s stupid face fall off.  
  
Hermione looked up as he kept his eyes in the small clearing in the trees. She stood, not needing to be told, and looked in the direction he was. All she could see was a small clearing before another dark mass of trees stretched out behind it.  
  
The Snatcher gave the rope a small, unnecessary tug, before he stepped forward. Hermione scowled at him, blowing on her raw, frozen fingers as she followed him. She followed behind him cautiously, though had no choice in the pace.  
  
The Snatcher stalked across the forest floor silently, as though his feet weren’t touching the ground at all. Hermione, however, clattered through the bush and almost stomped across the loud crunch of frozen leaves. The snow was heavier in the clearing, so she stumbled even more, looking to tree branches to hold herself in place. Miraculously the Snatcher had left her enough give in the length of rope to do so.

“You’re like a Hippogriff clompin’ about back there.” The Snatcher broke the silence for the first time in a long while and Hermione turned to scowl at him. “I could track yer in minutes from ‘alfway across the forest with the amount of noise yer make.”  
  
But Hermione didn’t respond this time. She was too distracted by the wooden hut that had suddenly appeared in the clearing around her. She gasped, her cold breath rising as they neared the hut. He had used the same spells she had to hide the tent, Harry… and Ron. Only from the look and feel of it as she passed through, these charms were stronger. Much stronger.

From the outside the hut didn’t look very big, but suddenly her heart was in her throat once more, filling the same spot it had taken to fleeing to. She had no idea of the hut’s occupants, and she didn’t want to know.

The Snatcher was at the door now, about to reach out for it… No.

Hermione leapt backwards, frantically pulling at the rope, wriggling her hands to try and free her bonds.

“Now what?” The Snatcher snapped in his usual impatient tone. He looked at her with a mix of exasperation and annoyance.

“I-I-I’m n-not-n-not g-going in th-there.” Hermione tried to sound like she was warning him, but the stutter from her shivering ruined it, so mostly she just sounded cold.

“Fer fuck sake love,” the Snatcher rolled his eyes, looking pointedly at the door. He gave the rope a small tug before adding; “Yer can come in ‘ere or I can tie yer up outside to freeze to death?”

There was a silent pause between them as Scabior watched her as she shivered violently. His eyes took in the blue-tinged lips and red, wet nose. Her skin had paled considerably, and gooseflesh had erupted on her arms and legs. She needed to get in the warmth quickly. If she got sick, he couldn’t guarantee that he could get hold of the remedy for it.

Scabior waited impatiently, cold himself, as she seemed to run through her options in her head. He had been so focused on getting them to their destination safely that he hadn’t really considered the elements. He had been too eager to ensure that none of the Deatheaters raided his home and found her there. Thinking about keeping her warm just hadn’t been a priority, even though he knew it should have been.

It had been far, far too long since he’d had to look after anybody but himself.  
  
Finally, her hands and head dropped dejectedly, waiting for the door to open as she stepped closer. 

“Smart girl.” It was more a mocking statement than acknowledgement. Another reason for her to frown at him.  
  
Scabior stood back, watching her as she stepped slowly and cautiously into the sudden darkness of the hut. The light that had reflected from the snow was suddenly gone when he stepped into the hut behind her, quickly closing and warding the door.

Scabior turned but stumbled into her, her cold body against his as she stood, frozen just two steps from the door.

Hermione had frozen. Quite possibly literally. She had stilled just inside the doorway, the only movement she made was the vigorous shivering that her body could not cease. She had no idea where she was, she hated who she was with… and she had no idea where the owner of the hut was hiding in the shadows.  
  
The curtains of the hut were drawn, and no lamps or fires were lit inside there. Dark, looming shadows were all her eyes could make out in the dim light provided to her. She couldn’t help her mounting fear. She had refused the Snatcher’s deal. She had made a fuss… Had she created a bigger mess for herself?  
  
Hermione’s head was spinning, and not just from the pain, cold and the exhaustion. Was this a prospective client he had brought her to? Was she about to be punished for trashing his abode more than it already had been?

Hermione felt him turn and collide with her, but it barely registered as she kept her eyes peeled on the dark, dinginess in front of her.  
  
“What _are_ yer doing?” The Snatcher asked irritably, his hand on her shoulder to push his way past her. But she couldn’t speak. It seemed all words were just too much, too much for her stinging lips to form as she quaked on the spot.

Hermione watched him, unmoving from the place she had stumbled to as he had forced his way past. To her surprise he didn’t tug her forward but nimbly made his way through the dark, avoiding the shadows of obstacles before him.  
  
Light suddenly engulfed the room, heat warming her face as she flinched away from the fireplace, shielding herself for a second before she realized that he had only lit it. As she blinked back at the room, objects like a sofa, an area like a kitchen, a table at the back… it all came into view.  
  
The Snatcher lit gas-lamps that sat in various places across the room with a mere flick of his wand and still she searched the room. Expected the hut’s occupant to suddenly appear illuminated before her.

“Are yer comin’ in or not?”

For the life of him, Scabior had no idea why she was still lingering by the door when it was plainly obvious how bloody freezing she was. It was plain Gryffindor stupidity, that’s what it was. Their stubborn pride, that need to be brave and put on a front… no wonder it so often got them killed.  
  
“W-where are w-we?”

It seemed the ability to speak had returned to her, and so had some of the colour on her skin. He watched from the fireplace as her lips began to turn a ripened red once more.

“Somewhere safe.” Scabior murmured, stabbing at the fireplace with the iron poker. He regarded the black instrument before turning back to her, knowingly. He would have to move that later.  
  
_What did that mean?_  
  
Because as far as Hermione was concerned, anywhere that she was with _him_ , could not be considered safe.  
  
“I d-don’t…” She trailed off, because she never wanted to admit to him that she didn’t understand. “Wh-who owns this place?”

It occurred to him that her voice sounded a bit hollow, frightened. He could understand the frightened element after all he had done to her the previous night, but it was stupid for her to be asking questions rather than getting warm.  
  
“I do.” Scabior stated lightly, before walking around the old sofa that sat before the fireplace.  
  
“Wh-what?”

It sounded more of a gasp than anything; he couldn’t help but frown slightly as he got closer to her.  
  
“You mean… there’s no one else here?”  
  
“No.” He answered hurriedly, beginning to get aggravated by all the tedious bloody questions. “Now get over by the fire and… where’s your bag?”

But Hermione didn’t register his angry outcry. Her head was spinning, her chest rising and falling in a mix of panic and relief. They were alone… no prospective clients… they were alone… but that was neither comforting, nor reassuring.  
  
It was too much… it was all too much.  
  
Hermione’s head had been spinning for a long time before that moment, but it was then that she abruptly became aware of how very much the room was spinning. Had someone cast a _muffiliato_ _charm_ on the room? Because she was sure she could hear the Snatcher… from… somewhere.  
  
“Oi! D’yer hear me?” Scabior was panicked by the sudden draining of the little colour that had reappeared on her face. He stood still for a moment, before his body responded of its own accord. “Hey! Princess!”  
  
But he was too late to catch her before she hit the floor.

 

 

 

 

A/N: Poor Hermione. As always, please let me know what you think guys… Promised smut in the next chappie ^_^ 

My Tumblr: <http://gryffindorgirl7777.tumblr.com/>

My email: Gryffindorgirl2010@hotmail.co.uk


	13. Dreaming

 

New A/N: Hey, thank you so much guys for the comments. I’ve made a big addition to this chapter so I hope it’s still okay.

  
Original A/N: Hey guys. Got you another update! ^_^  
Smut as promised. Enjoy! >_< x

  
Chapter Thirteen

  
Dreaming.

  
The thud as the Granger woman hit the floor, reverberated around Scabior’s hut. He had hurried to her side just the briefest moment too late to catch her. He stooped to pick her up, feeling sick again.

“Hey!” Scabior called loudly to her, jostling her slightly in his arms as he tried to bring her round. Dark lashes fluttered but she didn’t open her eyes as he swept her chaotic hair from her pale, face. Her skin was icy cold. He looked around for a moment, a little at a loss, unsure what to do about the young woman in his arms.

After a moment of deliberation, Scabior decided to move her closer to the fire. The two of their wands dug into his trouser pocket for a second before he straightened, carrying her bridal-style, over to the fireplace.  
  
Scabior laid her down on the floor in front of the fire, but not close enough that it would burn her. Kneeling down beside her, he hurriedly flicked his wand and the rope that had been coiled around her wrist disappeared. His eyes registered the sore and broken skin on her wrist, felt a rising swell of shame again.

Yet he still couldn’t help himself as he looked over her. His eyes drank her in, taking in her ripe lips, pale skin and crazily curly hair. He couldn’t stop his fingers from reaching out to stroke some of those rogue curls away from her face.  
  
_Salazar. What was he doing to her?_  
  
Scabior hadn’t completely lost his senses. He knew that it was his fault she was lying here before him. Her chest rose and fell, the leather of his waistcoat draped across it. Her wet boots, cold legs, her damp freezing skin. It was his fault. His fault she was cold and wet and scared and there in the first place. What had he done? What was he doing?  
  
And why was he still stroking her cheek?  
  
Scabior tore his hand away from her face and he began to gently remove his waistcoat from around the Granger woman’s shoulders. Scabior swore at himself, fumbling a little in his haste. This was his fault.

Once his waistcoat had been discarded on the floor beside them, he pointed his wand at her, performing a Hot-Air Charm. Hot air streamed from the end of his wand and began to dry her body and clothes. He wouldn’t have minded stripping the wet clothes from her but he rather suspected that she would have something to say about it once she discovered that he had done so.

That and he was done giving her more reasons to be terrified of him.

Once she was dry her hair had become a frizzy and uncontrollable mess from the hot air, reminding him of his. He sat back then, a little relief flooding him as he watched her gain more colour by the minute. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he tried to collect his thoughts, and tear them away from her.  
  
Scabior left her beside the fire and headed over to the kitchen area. He began to search the cupboards, looking for anything that might be usable to make a meal for them both, but he swore again as he realised that anything that had been remaining had spoiled long ago.  
  
Had it really been so long since he was here last? Now that he was crouched in front of the empty cupboards and thinking about it, he couldn’t remember how long. The longer that he thought about it the more he realised that it had to be a matter of years. Straightening and closing the cupboard doors he glanced down at the unconscious woman.  
  
Scabior walked over to the door of the cabin, realizing that somewhere out there she had dropped the bag of things he’d troubled himself to get. They would also need food. Well the forest would provide that. He stopped at the door and looked back at the girl by the fire. Her legs were slightly parted, one knee slightly bent against the wooden floor. The shirt he had given her to wear stopped at mid-thigh length on her.  
  
He was an idiot. A cruel one.

Scabior turned away from her and locked the door behind him as he stomped outside. He cast the usual charms before looking up at the snow-filled clouds above him. He had to fix this. Somehow.

  
                        *                        *                        *                        *

Hermione looked down at her feet, the cold-water biting into them with icy fangs. She tilted her head, her hair long and loose as she stared down at them. Her feet were bare, in clear, cold water up to her ankles. She was standing on large, smooth stones and wore nothing but a simple, thin, white dress.

The cold breeze whipped about her, her hair billowing around her face. Hermione withheld a shiver, her skin turning to gooseflesh, but she didn’t care. She was cold but as she lifted her head and looked around at the forest surrounding her, she couldn’t help the half-sigh of relief that slipped from her lips. For some reason being out in the open, in the surrounding greenery of the woodland, she felt release.

She stood in the middle of a brook, water barely reaching her ankles. The banks of the brook were coated in lush green grass and moss, bright colours of a multitude of flowers broke through the green. The trees that grew beyond both banks were tall and full of leaves. The sunlight breaking through the canopy danced as the branches swayed in the breeze. Hermione held a hand up to her eyes, shielding them from the light as she looked up at the blazing sun.  
  
“Mione.” The voice made her look down from the sky, ahead at her where a familiar voice called out.

“Ron?” Hermione squinted; the light having dazzled her for a moment. Sure enough after blinking once or twice that Weasley-red hair became clear to her. Her heart swelled in gratitude. It was Ron. _Her_ Ron. Her eyes watered for a moment and she thought she might cry. It made no sense to her, but it felt like forever since she’d seen him.

Hermione could see that Ron was also in the brook, his jeans rolled up, his feet also bare.  
Ron had grown taller over the past year. Where his form had once been lanky, he had begun to fill out, his chest broader. She made out his flannel shirt, could almost count the numerous freckles on his face as the sun shone down on him. He was smiling at her, waving.  
  
“Come on!” He called to her, waving at her to follow him, but she hadn’t needed the invitation. Before she had realised that she was doing so, she had begun to run towards him. The water splashed loudly as she ran, water spraying up her calves as her hair flew out behind her.

“Come on you two!” Hermione’s heart leapt as she heard another familiar voice.  
  
“Harry?” Hermione called out loudly, but she couldn’t see him.

Hermione’s brow furrowed. She realised that although she was running towards Ron, she was getting no closer to him.

“Ron!” She cried out, trying to get his attention, because he was turning away from her now. “No. Ron, Please!” She reached out her hand, reaching for him. The brook stretched on and Ron was seeming further and further away.  
  
“Please wait!” Hermione called after him, but the sound of her feet splashing loudly through the water slowed. Quite suddenly Ron Weasley was no where to be seen.  
  
He had left her… again.  
  
“Ron!” Hermione’s cry echoed loudly around the surrounding woodland, the sound of birds taking flight echoed loudly in her ears.

Hermione’s heart was racing, her breathing laboured and loud in her ears. She wrapped her arms around herself protectively, beginning to feel the prickling of her skin. She had the sudden and horrible sensation that she was not alone, that she was being watched.

Spinning around Hermione came face to face with a silver wolf only a few feet away. She barely registered its coloured fur, pointed ears and its clawed paws, because her gaze flew immediately to its eyes. Penetrating, clear blue eyes cut right through her, piercing her through to her core. Her eyes widened as she watched its lips curl back before it let out a low snarl.

Whirling on the spot Hermione turned and ran, her feet splashing wildly through the freezing cold water. The air around her was cold, making her shiver but her breathing quickened as she fled, still feeling the beast’s gaze on her. The beast let her run for a few moments before she heard its paws breaking the water’s surface behind her as it gave chase.

Hermione cried out as she ran, the stones beneath her feet had ceased to be smooth. They were jagged and sharp and cut into the bottom of her feet. She felt the skin tear in several places, was sure the blood was trickling into the clear water beneath her, becoming diluted, but she didn’t stop. Didn’t dare stop. Every instinct inside her was yelling out to her, telling her to run.

As Hermione ran, she braved a glance behind her, finding the growling beast at her heels. She became aware that as she ran on the uneven, cutting stones beneath her feet, the water was beginning to rise. When she looked forward again, she was no longer in a narrow brook. The water stretched on, a wide river now. She looked down, the cold-water biting into her skin as it now reached her waist.

Hermione’s running was laboured now, the water prevented her from doing so. But still she heard that growl and felt those eyes upon her. She began to swim, the water up to her neck. She shivered violently as she swam, struggling. She came to a stop when she looked around, realising that there were no riverbanks anymore. The water stretched out around her, as far as the eye could see.

“Help!” Hermione cried out, almost swallowing water.

Swimming was becoming harder, her body exhausted, something pulling her under.  
  
“Please! Help me!” Hermione called before she was submerged completely beneath the surface of the water. She kicked and flailed her arms, forcing and fighting her way back above the surface.

When Hermione broke the surface a pair of icy-blue eyes were staring down at her. The grey and silver wolf was standing on a tiny island that stood alone in the endless water. Hermione flailed, fighting to keep herself above the water, staring up into that piercing, predatory gaze. The wolf did nothing but watched as she sank beneath the surface again.

Hermione could see those eyes, staring at her, despite the blur of clear water as she sank further into its depths. She kicked and pushed her arms through the water, clawing at it in the hope to rise to the surface once again. She was drowning.

 

                                    *                      *                      *                      *

  
Scabior was cold when he returned to the hut. The little chit had dropped the paper bag he had given her somewhere between the brook and the bushes they had crouched behind. After he had gone to so much trouble to get the items in that bag, the ungrateful little chit. But the more he tried to hate her, the less he did.

When it came to getting food for the both of them, Scabior had been fortunate enough to come across a rabbit in the forest early on. Hunting this time round hadn’t taken as long as it usually did this time of year. As he had looked out at the innocent creature from behind the tree, he was reminded of her. Innocent, and unfortunate… in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Being hunted by him.

Scabior fired the curse at the rabbit, not making any noise beforehand to alarm it, both because hunting was what he did, and because he didn’t need any more accusing eyes.  
  
He’d had enough of those.

  
                  *                  *                  *                  *

Hermione’s lungs were filling with water. Freezing cold, frigid water was cutting into her skin, filling her lungs in place of air. She blinked in the icy depths, unable to see anything before her but the dark depths that stretched on endlessly.

Chestnut brown hair looked darker as it floated out from her head eerily. Her skin looked paler as her hands reached out before her as she tried to claw at the water to somehow pull her way back to the surface. The light material of the dress looked almost transparent and floated in the water like a wavering ethereal ghost as she kicked violently at the water.

But Hermione was tired.

Hermione’s body ached and her lungs were burning. She needed air but all she was breathing was water. Hermione looked up, tried to see the surface of the water and the blue sky above her. All she saw was the blurry outline of the wolf, and those glacial piercing eyes.

Finally succumbing to the exhaustion, Hermione closed her eyes. Her fingers twitched as her body gave up the fight. She floated there, surrounded in the darkness by the water, her body suspended.

If this is death, Hermione thought, then it’s not that bad. Her body was beginning to warm up now, the exertion of running having caused a sweat before she began to drown. Now she was submerged in warm water, like she was merely rinsing her hair in the bath. It felt warm and she felt safe.

For a few blessed seconds Hermione felt relief as she floated in her endless sanctuary. That was until the water began to get hotter against her skin. She began to sweat, aware somewhere in the back of her head that it was illogical to be sweating whilst drowning in water. Her skin began to prickle again, but this time because of the temperature of the water.

She was too hot.

                                    *                      *                      *                      *

  
Scabior slumped down on the old sofa with a groan, checking on the Granger woman who still lay before the fire. She had flushed cheeks and more colour on her face and on her skin. His eyes traced her slim and slender form, travelling down her smooth and lengthy legs. She really was a vision of beauty, and it bothered him. She shouldn’t be and even if she was, he should not be lusting after her as he already was.  
  
Because he couldn’t deny it.  
  
His mouth had watered upon entry to the hut, and all because he smelt her scent. That vanilla-honey smell of heaven sweet.  
  
Scabior was tired, exhausted in fact; just as he had been since her arrival. He sank back into the sofa and tried not to close his eyes, but with warmth of the fire, the cosy seat and the smell of her skin… it was too hard not to let it lull him to sleep.  
  
It was a while later that he was startled from his sleep, unsure why at first. Then he noticed the movement on the floor, the young woman was stirring from her unconscious sleep. He watched from where he sat, unmoving, trying not to startle her. She made a low moan at first, reaching her hand up to her head. She looked around at the wooden floor, at the fire she lay beside, and then her eyes were on his once more. Fixated.  
  
Enchanted.  
  
Scabior didn’t know that he had moved until she stood up in response. They stood facing each other, eyes blazing, piercing… consuming. Neither of them tore their eyes away, and she dared him. Silently. The flames in her eyes licked away at him, burning, like the coiling strands that were burning his insides.  
  
Scabior moved, unwittingly and she closed the space between them almost as fast as he did. Still, those angry eyes burned. He breathed her in, could almost taste her skin. It wasn’t enough, could never be enough.

In one swift movement he had pulled her towards him without resistance, one hand on the small of her back, the other on her waist. She stood still, not fighting. Only her eyes revealed the passionate anger, the fury and the wildness inside her. Too suddenly he had to know her. Had to know that untamed animal that was growling back at him without her knowledge.

Suddenly they were moving, breathing fast and heavy. He turned her around and forced her back and she obeyed, three of her small steps before they hit the sofa he had risen from. Two steps from him before he pushed her back, her hair splaying across the sofa where she now lay.  
  
Those eyes were daring, tearing at him, and he would oblige. His lips were on hers in moments; too crazed, too fast and too breath-taking. He both heard and _felt_ her moan, felt it vibrate throughout her body.  
  
Salazar help him, he’d forgotten how to breathe, how to function.  
  
Rough fingers reached up to her neck, reaching to stroke the side of her face with his thumb. Then his fingers in her hair, and suddenly hers were in his, and her lips were pressing back. Her tongue was colliding, fighting his, a primitive duel for dominance that neither of them had control of.  
  
That energy was thrumming between them, again. The one that tingled and taunted and licked at his skin. He was on all fours above her, but he felt it in the empty spaces between them, begging them to close the distance. That buzzing, hungry tingle that reminded him that he was so close and yet far too far away.  
  
Scabior breathed her in with every kiss, with every lick as his lips moved to her neck. Merlin, she smelt so good, tasted so sweet and she wasn’t fighting him off. In fact, her hands were fisted into his shirt, pulling him closer as his other hand stroked up her leg. His fingers barely touched her, that tingling magic that had nothing to do with witchcraft, was sparking, leaving traces of his touch across her skin. His hands were moving, roaming and he felt the lace of her panties as he reached down beneath her, to grab that toned arse of hers.

The young woman’s breath hitched but she didn’t push him away. Her eyes were heavy-lidded and dark with lust. Deep, chocolate brown eyes blazed back at him, framed with long dark lashes. Her eyes barely stayed open as his fingers roamed her skin.

What little clothing she wore was an obstruction, but he didn’t want her to flee. His head was buried below her chin, licking and nibbling at the tender skin upon her neck. His lips travelled down, across her collarbone and back again as he tugged at the shirt she wore in vain.  
  
All he could hear was her panting, heavy breaths above the quiet crackle of the fireplace but the heat that they created was more powerful than any fire. They were, burning.  
  
And he was a man possessed.  
  
Scabior moved down, covering her body with chaste kisses. His lips caressed her skin as he kissed the toned, flat expanse of her stomach and moved lower, towards the bare skin of her legs. He lifted one just slightly, bending it at the knee, his fingers stroking behind it, eliciting a small mewing noise from the witch beneath him.  
  
Scabior’s lips were pressed against her leg, pressed against her skin and he was trying to calm the beast within him, but it was raging more powerfully than ever. That innocent scent had consumed him, and all he wanted to do was ruin her. He wanted to be the one to corrupt her. To be the one to savour that sweet tasting wetness that he knew at least her mouth contained, if nothing else. Just the thought of other wet tastes drove him crazy.  
  
His head was pressed against her inner thigh, breathing in that heavenly scent. His tongue was darting out, his teeth nibbling and scraping lightly against her skin.  
  
It wasn’t enough.  
  
Something had taken over. The need, the hunger, the burning, aching need inside him. He was a raging beast. He forgot himself. Forgot everything. Everything except for her.  
  
Scabior was full of her; her scent, her taste, her touch.  
  
Large hands moved to her hips, tugging her closer to him before his hand was back on her arse. Her pelvis was inches from the place that craved her touch the most.  
  
Fire blazed. He could see the flames, flashes of them as his mouth devoured her sweet skin, seemingly never leaving it. Flames in the fire, in her eyes, in his skin. The heat was building. Too much, and never enough.  
  
Never enough.  
  
Like a man possessed his tongue trailed across her skin, one long lick along her inner thigh his other hand grasping her opposite hip tightly. He could smell her, could almost taste her wetness as his lips remained pressed against her upper thigh. He was trying to control himself, but that scent was tantalizing. This almost was too much.  
  
Because he didn’t only want it…  
  
He _needed_ it.  
  
Suddenly he looked up, his eyes meeting hers. She had tried to sit up, was resting her weight on her arms and her eyes were staring silently into his.  
  
This time… They sent chills through him.

 

  
Scabior woke with a start, unaware that he had been asleep. He was panting, his brow wet with sweat and images from his dream still vivid in his mind. He was breathing heavily, and let out a quiet groan as he looked down at the obvious display of his errant need, his wanting.  
  
“Fuck.” He spat out the word, sinking back in defeat.  
  
Scabior’s hand rubbed his face, covering his eyes. He scolded himself, because he had a bloody hard on for her. Like an inexperienced schoolboy he felt the need to wrap his hand around it and keep moving it until he had rubbed everything about _her_ out of him.  
  
_Fuck._  
  
It had been a long time, if ever that he’d had a dream like that. It both excited and destroyed him. He was a Snatcher. A servant of the dark forces, because it’s all that he could do. All that he was good at. She was young, old enough, in fact, not that young at all. That wasn’t the problem though. The problem was that she was a Mudblood, something he should detest, fight against and condemn with all his being.  
  
But he couldn’t.  
  
Instead all he did was lust for her with all his being.

It was too hot. _He_ was too hot. Too damn close to that girl on the floor who still hadn’t woken up. He got to his feet, strode over to the door and unlocked it with his wand. Her own lay inside his trouser pocket, where his would later join it.

Scabior stepped outside, into the cold, away from the heat, away from her scalding skin and her poisoning sweetness. He stood outside the hut, shutting the door behind him, tilting his head back as he looked up at the now falling snow. He let himself shiver as he stood in just his shirt, boots and trousers.

Merlin she was consuming him, without even trying. What on earth was wrong with him? The snowflakes fell on his face. Snow. Each flake individual, original, special. Too unlike him.  
  
_“You’re Worthless!”_

The angry shout echoed around his head as his memories haunted him.  
  
Perhaps he would be better inside, in the warmth, where the only thing exceptional and special was her. He didn’t need the memories. Not when his head was pounding anyway. He waited a little longer, until he was able to hide his evident need for her. The last thing he needed was her to freak out if she came around to find him standing there with that display.  
  
Scabior stepped back inside the cabin and closed the door behind him, warding it with a charm from his wand. His head snapped up, turning instantly to the fireplace.

He was immediately grateful for having waited before he returned to the hut. Because standing unsteadily by the fireplace was the Mudblood.  
  
She was awake.

  
Hermione had woken from the darkness, noticing that when she had fallen into it, she had been extremely cold. Now she was awake she felt both wet and the warmth on her skin, as though the flames were kissing her, soothing her. It took several moments before she fully comprehended that she wasn’t still submerged in the depths of that hot water, that it had in fact been a dream. No, instead she understood that she was sweating from the temperature of the air around her.  
  
Heavy eyes opened and at first her vision was blurred, a light flickered nearby. That was when Hermione realised that the light was coming from the same direction as the source of her warmth. She turned her head, looking into the flickering, dancing flames as they burned away the logs beneath them.

Hermione’s body ached, her injured arm burned, and wrists were sore, her skin broken where the rope had rubbed it. Most of all Hermione was aware of the pounding in her head and how her nose still felt almost cold. Hermione raised her hand to her head, wiping the sweat from her brow.  
  
Despite the warmth Hermione’s surroundings provided, she had that edgy, uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. That was when everything came back to her, the reason she had those injuries. The reason why she felt so bad now. Remembering was making her head pound more fiercely yet.  
  
_Where was he?_  
  
Hermione began to push herself up, leaning her weight on the back of her arms. The room spun around her as she moved and she blinked furiously, trying to make it still. She looked around the moment things remained stationary around her.

Looking around quickly, Hermione saw that there was an old sofa opposite her and the fireplace, a few feet away. It looked like a good target to aim for if she needed help climbing to her feet and staying on them, which unfortunately she rather felt she would.

To Hermione’s right was a small kitchen area built under the windows. The sat a couple of cupboards built under the countertop, which had a few jars on top of it that contained, what looked like pickled _somethings_. Above the counter, tied from the rafters of the cabin, hung a mix of dried plants, giving the cabin the real stereotypical feel of a witch’s cabin in the depths of the woods.

Hermione’s eyes travelled to the corner where there sat an old stove which had a few copper pans resting on top. There were more cupboards and shelves on the wall to the right of the stove.  
  
Wooden walls stretched between the kitchen shelves and the fireplace. The mantlepiece was wide, with heavy pillar candles on top. The wax had melted and spilled over the side but that could barely be seen beneath the cobwebs. Hermione shuddered as she took in an animal skull sitting covered in dust.

Turning her head to the right she saw that the wooden wall stretched on, empty and unremarkable. In the corner was a small, square table with a lamp sitting on it. As Hermione looked over at the back wall, she saw an old and heavy wooden table and chairs. There was a set of drawers before she was looking at the far corner. A double bed sat pushed into a wide alcove a fair few feet behind the sofa. Hermione leant to her side in order to search the corner, to make sure that he wasn’t in it.

Beyond the sofa there were two doors set into the wall. She had the briefest flash of hope that one of them contained bathroom facilities before she reminded herself that it didn’t matter, after all she wouldn’t be staying. She was going to get out of there. She was going to escape.

Hermione’s gaze reached the heavy looking wooden door to the cabin again. It was small but functional she supposed. Not that it mattered. All that mattered was that the Snatcher wasn’t in it.  
  
Thank Godric.  
  
Hermione tried to get to her feet, but found she was indeed unsteady on them. She stumbled over to the sofa, using the arm of it to steady herself before she turned back to the fire. She tried to walk over to it, stumbling slightly, but using the mantlepiece above the fire she was able to straighten up, standing.  
  
Hermione ignored the heavy layer of dust that was now smeared across her fingers, and the cobwebs on her arms. She was breathing slowly, trying to breathe deeply so as not to pass out again.

She had to get out. She had to get out, but Merlin, her head hurt. Her body ached and her stomach growled despite having eaten back at the apartment. She looked around from her place by the fire, where she remained clinging to the mantelpiece. There was nothing she could use from what she could see.  Nothing that would pass for a weapon anyway.

She turned, looking at the kitchen drawer… a knife perhaps?

Just as Hermione took a step towards the kitchen drawers, she suddenly she heard a noise from over at the door. Again, her heart pounded, but she straightened and readied herself for whatever or whomever may enter through that door. Her stomach churned as they stepped inside, her heart racing as her gaze hardened.  
  
It was him.

 

 

 

 

 

  
A/N: Please read and review. I like to hear what you think >_< 

My Tumblr: <http://gryffindorgirl7777.tumblr.com/>

My email: Gryffindorgirl2010@hotmail.co.uk

 


	14. Questioning

 

 

New A/N: So, I’ve had a call today to travel the 3 hours there and back to a rehabilitation hospital in Bath. I’m incredibly nervous, particularly about the pain I’m going to be in traveling that far. However, when I do get there and get assessed they may decide to take me in on their rehab programme. Wish me luck. Please feel free to message me on Tumblr and keep me company.  
I also want to express my deepest gratitude to my Beta-reader, Skye .  
  
Original A/N: New chapter

 

**  
Chapter Fourteen**

**  
Questioning.**

  
At first, they merely stared at each other.

The witch before him had dirt smeared up her smooth legs from where she’d been crouching outside. Her hair was in a crazed frenzy with rogue leaves littering it. The over-sized shirt that had once been cream was dirty from where she’d fallen in the snow, dragged along mercilessly by him. One of the arms of the shirt was torn and missing where he’d ripped it off to clean their wounds.

Scabior noticed that her legs were trembling slightly, almost imperceptibly. She was blinking more than usual and as she stood before him, she was swaying somewhat on the spot. He noticed how her fringe was wet and clinging to her brow. He always noticed little things like that.

Still she was standing straight and tall, despite her worrying condition.  
  
_Stupid Gryffindor._  
  
That was when Scabior realized that he probably looked like an idiot standing there, looking at her. Still, his words failed him, and all he could do was meet her gaze.

“What happened?”

Finally, she broke the silence and he was relieved of that, because he had no idea what to say. He had no idea how to say; ‘I’m sorry’ without losing control over her. He had no idea how to apologise, when she was a Mudblood, and he the Snatcher.

So, he just answered her question.  
  
“You passed out.”

Scabior began to walk slowly over to the kitchen. It was dark out and getting late but neither of them had eaten yet. She needed more food and so did he. At least it was something for him to do, something to keep him busy.

“Oh.” Hermione had been pretty sure that was what had happened, but she had wanted to confirm it for some unfathomable reason. She glanced down at herself as the Snatcher turned his scrutinising gaze away from her. Godric, she looked a state. She felt it too. She couldn’t believe that she actually felt worse than when she had been camping in the woods with the two boys.

Hermione turned when she heard a noise in the kitchen. The Snatcher had his back to her but had pulled a large chopping knife from the kitchen drawer. Hermione instinctively took a few steps back away from him.  
  
“What are you doing?” The young woman’s breathy question alerted him to her fear, and he held up the dead rabbit before he explained.

“Cooking dinner.”

Scabior saw the glimmer in her eyes, expected her lip to tremble and for her to say something about not wanting to eat the poor defenceless creature that he had just murdered… but she didn’t. She remained silent, watching him carefully with blinking eyes.

Getting to work on the creature they would be eating, Scabior pulled some tins out of the cupboards beneath him. He made a mental note get some fresh vegetables next time he had the chance. It wasn’t until he heard a small murmur from the girl that he actually paused in his task.  
  
Hermione was shifting her weight on the spot, hating that she had to ask him…  
  
“Erm… Can I…” Hermione paused, hoping he’d catch on. She detested him for the blush that reached her cheeks when he merely raised his eyebrows sceptically at her. She sighed then knowing that she just had to blurt out the question. “Can I please use the toilet?”

Merlin, she hoped it wasn’t just a damned bucket.  
  
Scabior tried not to smile at her as her cheeks flushed a bright red and she lowered her eyes. He was sure his amusement could be heard in his voice when he spoke, but she had no choice but to put up with it.

“Sure.”

Again, he was surprised how polite she’d been. It was a sign of a good upbringing… It also meant that she was too tired to fight him.

“It’s just through that door,” he pointed to the one nearest the front door of the hut before turning back to his prior task.

“Thanks.” He heard her breathe before he saw her move towards it from the corner of his eyes. She still seemed unstable on her feet.

Hermione closed the door behind her, locking it and leant back against it. She leant her head back against the door, taking the moment to appreciate that she had gotten away from him.  
Her legs were weak, everything about her ached and she began to feel the cold again now that she was away from the fire. Above all, she was hyper-aware that, if he wanted to, the Snatcher could be in that bathroom in a second.

Hermione opened her eyes, her moment of freedom gone with the realization that with one _alohomora_ he would be in there, probably dragging her out of it. She needed to make the most of being in there, before he actually tried it.

Looking around Hermione realised that the small room was about as big as a standard toilet cubicle. After attending to her needs, she turned to wash her hands in the small sink on the right hand wall, looking up at her reflection in the mirror above the sink.  
  
The small mirror only made her feel worse, the cracked corners made her see more images of herself, staring back, looking horrendous.

She went to reach for the small bar of soap but hesitated when she saw that it was covered in a layer of soot and dirt. Lovely. Once she had rubbed the dirt from it and washed her hands, she lathered up the soap and used the stone-cold water to wash her face.

The cold water hit her like a slap, but she felt better for it. Next she reached her leg up, putting her foot on the wall as she used the water to wash off the smears of dirt. She reached for the small hand towel when she had finished, but it was filthy. She let herself drip onto the rug beneath her feet instead.

Pulling the few random leaves from her hair, Hermione attempted to tidy the frizzy curls atop her head. She ran her fingers through it, trying to untangle it, but her efforts didn’t do much to help. She let out a long sigh as she stared back at herself again.

It wasn’t that she cared what he thought of her, it was about how she felt and at that moment she both looked and felt awful. She lingered in the small toilet room for as long as she could before she decided she was ready to face him. She couldn’t stay in there forever, and even if she tried, he would drag her out again. Therefore, Hermione unlocked the bathroom door and slowly stepped out into the warm room.

Scabior had busied himself with preparing the food, using magic to hurry it up where he could, but there wasn’t much more he could do. Knowing she was avoiding him, he let her stay in the toilet whilst he went over to the table at the other end of the room. He sat down at an angle, facing out into the rest of the room and began to drink the tea he’d made for himself. The one he’d made for her sat on the kitchen table, getting cold.

Scabior looked up when the toilet door finally opened. He was slightly surprised, expecting that he would have to drag her out himself. He watched as she peered round the door, looking to the kitchen first before her head snapped round to find him on the other side of the room. He was half tempted to give a small wave but decided that it was best not to antagonize her.

Hermione edged into the room, feeling wholly uneasy and awkward. She really wanted her trousers back. Why had she let him dress her in his shirt? Why had she trusted him to give her jeans back?

“You _can_ sit down you know?”  
  
Hermione started, looking up, realizing that she was standing on the spot, frowning into the fire. The Snatcher gestured to the sofa and for a moment she hesitated, before deciding it was safe, seeing as he was on the other side of the room.

Hermione took a seat on the sofa, the side furthest away from him. She pulled her feet up, tucking her knees under her chin after pulling the shirt down over them. She began to pull at the laces on her boots, unsure if she was going to take them off or not. What did she care if they got mud on the sofa? She deliberated for a moment before deciding that she really wanted to take them off so that she could peel off the cold, wet socks beneath them.

The boots fell to the floor with a thud that broke the silence. She peeled the cold, wet socks from her feet before silently questioning what she should do with them.

“Yer can leave them on the floor for now,” the Snatcher said, watching her. “I’ll wash ‘em later.”

So, Hermione dropped them on the floor beside her boots, still not looking at him. She was grateful for the distance between them. There was something about being in close proximity to him that was devastatingly suffocating.

As Hermione sat, curled in a ball on the sofa she couldn’t help but admit that there was something about the hut that was comforting to her. It may have been the heat, or the smell of food cooking, but it soothed her. Hermione wondered if it was the familiarity to the Gryffindor common room. She had spent many an evening in there with Harry and Ron in front of the fire. If she stared at it long enough, she could even pretend that she was there with them. Who was she kidding? There was no way to drown out the Snatcher’s presence. Even if she had Luna’s imagination, she doubted that she could ignore his existence.  
  
The Snatcher had thankfully kept his distance from her, allowing her to relax a little. She could never be fully calm around that man, but she was grateful for the short reprieve.

The silence stretched out between them and shocked Hermione when he broke it about half an hour later.  
  
“Listen… about last night.”

Scabior had no idea what to say.

How could he apologise for something like that? He knew that he had been totally and utterly in the wrong, but that didn’t mean he knew how to make it right again. All he knew was that he’d felt sickeningly guilty since the moment he had looked down at her, kneeling at his feet as he yanked up his trousers. He had to say or do something, but he was oblivious as to what that something was. Whatever it was he was meant to do was being just as elusive and evasive as she was.

Hermione purposefully kept her eyes on the fire in front of her. She wouldn’t get caught in his gaze. She wouldn’t make this easier for him.

“Things…” Fuck, she wouldn’t even look at him, which made it even harder. “Things got out of control.”  
Hermione snapped her head around to look at him, breaking her own rule. _That_ was the understatement of the century.

No. Having her eyes on him made it worse. He let her interrupt him with those fiery, hating eyes, wishing she’d go back to ignoring him.

“Look…” Another attempt and he cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably before admitting defeat. “Got you these.” With that, he grabbed the paper bag he had returned to the forest for from the floor beside him and threw it at her.

Hermione let the sodden brown bag land on the sofa beside her, a few things tumbling out. There was a toothbrush; still in its packaging, and a hairbrush. Without wanting to admit her appreciation of the objects, she kept herself busy by picking the bag up to peer inside.

“Yer might have t’ dry some of ‘em.” Scabior nodded at the damp material she was now pulling from the bag. At least she hadn’t thrown them back at him. Her interest in them even lifted his guilt… barely. He’d let her go without saying thank you; after all, he didn’t deserve it.  
  
Scabior watched as she pulled out a pack of men’s socks and put them on the sofa beside the wrapped toothbrush. Next he knew would come a pair of plain black t-shirts, more her size than the baggy one she had worn previously. He would return to the apartment tomorrow to get his coat, her jeans and the other belongings they might need.  
  
Hermione pulled out a thick, burgundy woollen jumper and tried to hide her surprise. She would have assumed he would try to force her to wear greens, anything to put her down, remind her that she was owned by a Slytherin.  
  
She somehow knew without being told that he had been in the same house as Malfoy. His cunning and cruelty were the only major hints she’d needed. There were many more small ones.

Next she reached into the bottom of the bag and pulled out a black bra, the same size as the one in his flat. How he’d remembered her bra size that whole time she had no idea. Even _she_ usually didn’t care to remember it.

After that there was a red bra and Scabior couldn’t help but chuckle slightly as her eyebrows raised. He knew that next would come two pairs of black pants and then two pairs of red. At the bottom was something he had picked up at the last minute.

“I refuse to wear this.” Hermione said in all seriousness as she held up a red g-string by the tip of her finger. The Snatcher let out a bark of laughter then, leaning back slightly on the chair. It managed to break the tension around them, and when he turned back there was a glint in his eyes once again.

“Yer need to have _something_ t’ wear in front of prospective clients, right?” He held his arms up across his face as the red strip of material was flung across the room at him.

“You’re a pig!” She snapped at him but had turned back to the rest of the goods with interest all the same.  
  
“I’ll get your jeans and stuff tomorrow, for now I’d suggest you sleep in what you’re wearing.” Scabior said as he got to his feet as the pot on the stove began to boil over slightly.

Hermione felt herself sink back away from him instinctively and tried to keep her eyes from him. But then he paused right in front of her, making her swallow.

“I know that lot don’t make what happened alright… I am sorry that it came down t’ that.” Without another word he stepped away, saying nothing more and not expecting a reply.  
  
Hermione huddled in on herself as he saw to the food and hung the clothing he had given her up to dry. She tried to work out who this Snatcher was, because the way his mood kept changing was exhausting.

Once they had eaten, talking briefly and only for mundane reasons such as to check if the food was okay, Hermione began to get anxious again. They would need to settle down to sleep, she could see the Snatcher was looking as tired as she felt, despite her fear induced nap from earlier.  
  
It turned out, the second door, (the one nearest the bed,) was a storage cupboard. Hermione barely got a glimpse but saw that it was full of old looking items, buckets and toolboxes and all sorts of old things were in there. She even made out a set of fishing rods in the light that the Snatcher let in.  
  
Hermione waited from the sofa, turning to watch, as he dragged out a large wooden trunk with a lock on. He unlocked the box using his wand, but Hermione couldn’t see the items inside. That was when he waved his wand at the kitchen drawers. Sharp knives, chopping knives, a skewer; all were sent into the box, shrinking as they went.  
  
Bugger.  
  
The Snatcher wasn’t as dumb as Hermione had heard most were, this made things so much harder for her to escape. She ducked as a poker she had previously not seen, came flying at her, headed towards the box.

“Hey!” Hermione exclaimed angrily, but the Snatcher wouldn’t be distracted. “Are we going to eat using only spoons?” She asked cynically.  
  
“Sweetheart, I saw you with the knife earlier… I’m not sleepin’ anywhere around yer until I know that everythin’ sharp is locked away.” Scabior replied, concentrating on the task at hand. He’d rather not wake in the middle of the night with her standing over him holding a knife… he hoped she wouldn’t try to be as resourceful with the spoons.  
  
Scabior was letting out a small chuckle at himself when she cut in again.  
  
“How about you don’t sleep anywhere around me anyway!” She was yelling and, on her feet, again.  
  
“Calm down frigid girl…” Scabior taunted. “I ‘ave no wish to share a bed with someone like you anyway.” Whether he was referring to her being a Mudblood or being so unwilling he didn’t rightly know. Either way, he’d been lying.

“So where am I sleeping?” Hermione asked, because she wasn’t stupid, she knew how the master and servant dynamics worked. She would no doubt be sleeping on the sofa… or if he felt really cruel, in the corner somewhere, with nothing but a blanket.  
  
“Where do yer think?” He exclaimed in exasperation

Muggles slept in beds, right? He questioned for a second, because she was either being particularly dumb or expected that she wouldn’t have the bed… and he already knew that she wasn’t dumb.

Scabior turned to look at her. He could see the sorrow leaking from her soul at the whole idea of being trapped there, with him. But she was steeling herself. He could see the tension in her shoulders and her fisted hands. She looked right at him, telling him with her eyes that he could do as he wished, but she would not be broken.

But that was part of the fun wasn’t it?

Because he could break her in so many ways, and there was only one way that interested him.

Hermione watched as his eyes widened almost imperceptibly before he shook his head, as though trying to clear his thoughts. She frowned back at him, confused as to what those thoughts might have been.

“You’re in the bed, you Pygmypuff.” The Snatcher waved in the direction of his bed, sounding irritated. Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise. Not only had he called her a Pygmypuff, which in all fairness was a rather lame comeback- one she may have used in a retort to Ginny or Luna in the past- but also because he was giving up his bed for her.

Was he not the master in their dynamics? Was he not the one that was claiming he owned her? Then surely, he should be keeping his bed? Letting her use it was just too kind and she already knew that he was anything but.

Hermione edged her way around the sofa, heading towards the bed but still keeping a fair distance between them.

“And where will _you_ be sleeping?” Hermione added, as he locked the box of potential weapons and in doing so he also locked away any hopes she had of escape. He shoved the trunk back into the cupboard and shut the door.

Hermione was backing up, the fingers of her left hand brushing the patchwork quilt that lay upon the bed. She felt ill at the idea of sharing the bed with him. If that was what he had in mind, well he had another thing coming. She would rather sleep on the floor.

“I, ever the gentleman…” Scabior mocked, moving round the opposite side of the sofa to her. He ignored the derisive snort she emitted at the mention of him being a gentleman. “…Shall be sleepin’ on the sofa.”

With that said, he dumped himself down upon the sofa, crossing one of his long legs over the other at his feet. He watched as she stared at his booted feet, her lips parted, looking confused more than anything else.

“You mean… I can have your bed?” she murmured, wishing the words hadn’t slipped from her mouth.  
  
“Yeah.” The Snatcher replied incredulously, moving one of the sofa cushions behind his head.

“No strings attached?” she questioned suspiciously, because it didn’t make sense.

“Did yer want strings t’ be attached?” The Snatcher raised his eyebrows and sat up slightly. “I mean, if yer want me t’ share the bed with yer, yer only need to ask love.” He waggled the heavy brows above those piercing eyes, making Hermione swallow before she could answer.  
  
“Definitely no.” she replied sternly, shutting down the suggestion there and then.

“Right then. Get t’ sleep.” Scabior waved vaguely towards the bed before putting his arm back behind his head to join his other one.  
  
Hermione made her way cautiously over to the bed. Part of her screamed at the idea of sleeping in his bed and in the same room as him, but the other part of her reminded her that she didn’t have much of a choice. She was cold, and short of sleeping in the cupboard or the tiny bathroom, there was nowhere else. That and he was there, instructing her.  
  
Hermione peeled the blanket back and climbed carefully into the bed, finding that the bedding smelt clean and, annoyingly, of him. She rolled over, her back to him as she curled up on the furthest side of the bed, leaving the other untouched.

Even with the woollen blanket wrapped tightly around her, Hermione was still cold.

Scabior watched as the Granger girl hesitantly climbed into his bed. The idea of joining her was almost too alluring, but he remained where he was. He chuckled quietly to himself as she curled up on one side of the bed, the one furthest from him. She wasn’t rolling out and stretching across the bed like he usually did in a double bed. Perhaps she wasn’t used to double beds?  
  
Scabior cleared his mind of questions like that, he didn’t want to lose control at the idea of her sleeping in his bed. He peered over the back of the sofa silently. Her hair was splayed out on his pillow and she was curled in a ball, probably clutching the covers tightly.

Hermione was clutching the covers, still awake because he was there. She was too uneasy, exhausted yes, but he was right there. She tried to keep her mind off her boys, off Harry and off Ron.

Merlin, had they really abandoned her? A day or so ago she’d adamantly thought to herself that the best thing for them would be to continue with their task, but now…

“Yer better know now that I’m a light sleeper...” The Snatcher suddenly broke the silence, making her jump. “So, don’t be tryin’ to get out in the night. The door’s warded ‘n’ if you’re not careful I may end up stunning yer.”

Great.

The Snatcher’s words didn’t exactly put her at ease before bed either, but she knew that was the intention. She wasn’t stupid; she’d seen the charms he’d been using, both at this place and at his messy apartment.  No. Without her wand she had no chance of escape.

Scabior had moved her wand beneath the cushion he rested his head on, beside his which he gripped in his hand as always. There was no way she’d be able to get it without waking him. He woke at the slightest sound of movement. It was another reason why he made such a good Snatcher.  
  
Scabior could detect movement and sound that others couldn’t. It was why he’d been awarded the promotion. He was even in charge of Greyback now. Not that he was exactly friends with the sadistic werewolf but having him obediently on his side had made his reputation grow. The only one who didn’t seem to realize who he was and what that meant, was her.

Did the Snatcher even know who she was? Did he know how important this was? That he’d taken her, stolen her from her two best friends? The weight of the Wizarding world rested on their shoulders and they _needed_ her! How were they going to do this without her? It was her who connected the symbol with the tales of Beadle the Bard. It was she who suggested their trip to Xenophilius Lovegood. Albeit it had been a terrible trap, but they now knew what the Deathly Hallows _were_ now at least. Though admittedly Hermione wasn’t sure what an old wizard fable had to do with the Horcrux hunt.  
  
Hermione kept going over the story repeatedly in her head. She had been so sure that Dumbledore had left the Tales of Beadle the Bard to her to help them. She felt more disappointed in the old wizard than ever now. She had been conflicted by her feelings towards Professor Dumbledore for a while now, but this latest blow had disappointment seeping into her very pores. He had asked too much of Harry, a child. She couldn’t help the resentment she felt for him when she thought of the weight upon Harry’s shoulders.  
  
Logically Hermione was pretty sure that the Tale of the Three Brothers was little more than a story, but then she had not thought that Horcruxes could be possible until Harry told her of them the year before. She had been unable to find a single shred of information on Horcruxes, even after reading all the books in Hogwart’s library. She certainly never would have conceived it possible to create _seven_ of them.  
  
_Could_ the Deathly Hallows be possible? Could there really be weapons that when united were a means to master death? She felt sure that if there had been Voldemort would have taken it upon himself to hunt them down many years ago.

_But there is Harry’s cloak._

The voice inside her head reminded her.

‘… but the Third Hallow is a _true_ cloak of invisibility, Miss Ganger!’ Xenophilius Lovegood’s voice joined the voice inside her head. ‘I mean to say, it is not a travelling cloak imbued with a Disillusionment Charm or carrying a Bedazzling Hex, or else woven from Demiguise hair, which will hide one initially but fade with the years until it turns opaque. We are talking about a cloak that really and truly renders the wearer completely invisible, and endures eternally, giving constant and impenetrable concealment, no matter what spells are cast at it. How many cloaks have you ever seen like _that_ , Miss Granger?’

One.  
  
Harry’s cloak. As much a logic was dictating that they were nothing but an old tale, doubt was nagging away at her again. It had been she that had put two and two together, realising that Ignotus Peverell had some significance to the story because of the mark she had seen on his gravestone. Didn’t they always say that myths were steeped in truth?

Hermione shook her head, feeling exhausted to the bone. No. It was better to think about what she knew was true. She didn’t want them going off on some wild-goose chase… if she ever got away from the Snatcher.  
  
She knew Ron. She was quite confident that he’d pass the tale off straight away as just a fanciful story. He’d talk about how great it would be if they _were_ real, if they really _could_ use them to overthrow Voldemort. Harry on the other hand. Hermione sighed, barely audible over the crackling of the fire. Harry was a different story.  
  
Harry tended to get, well, a little obsessive over things at times. She remembered how in her first year of school he had been so certain that Professor Snape had been the one trying to steal the Philosopher’s Stone and that she had not been able to convince him that he was wrong. Then again, he’d been obsessive about Malfoy the previous year, telling them that he was up to something and he’d been right, hadn’t he? Hermione would give anything to rewind time, to somehow change what had occurred.  
  
Hermione sighed again. She was sure that Harry would over think the theory of the Deathly Hallows. Whether this was a good or bad thing though, she couldn’t be sure anymore. All she knew was that the Horcruxes made sense. Harry had seen a few of them with his own eyes, having even destroyed one. Horcruxes were something they had proof of, so that is what Hermione’s rational mind was silently praying for Harry and Ron to concentrate on.  
  
Perhaps Hermione thought too much of herself, but she couldn’t help the fear and worry from consuming her at the idea of both Harry and Ron having to search for Horcruxes without her.   Perhaps she was being too proud? But the idea of them being alone, the idea of _her_ being alone… it left her feeling colder than before.

The Snatcher watched her as she lay there, the fire still blazed and he used his wand to turn off the lamps, deciding that he’d leave one on low for her. He noticed that her frame was tense, knew she wasn’t asleep and part of him wanted to comfort her. He’d done all this to save her after all and if she managed to escape from his buyer that was no bother to him. For now, he would keep her safe, keep her hidden from Malfoy and his dogs… but he was one of them, and as he’d already proved, he couldn’t always keep her safe from himself.  
  
Gradually, in the darkness of the room, he saw her frame begin to soften. Her shoulders dropped and eventually she rolled over, asleep. She was facing him, her hair spilling over the pillows. He was almost asleep himself, his eyes closing every few moments, only to open and search for her again.

He could comfort her, he reasoned, but it would scare her and what next? Would he lose control and repeat the same mistakes from the previous day? Or he could just look. Look at her and fall asleep watching over her. He decided to do just that.

 

  
A/N: Please let me know what you think. I know you all want smut, but there has to be dialogue and explanations too. >_< xxxxxx


	15. Unfinished Business

[ ](https://imgur.com/aeuxlrP)

 

 

New A/N: So my hospital trip went well. They want me in for four weeks soon. I'm in agony.   
  
Orginal A/N: Got an extra long chapter for you guys tonight. Though I would really appreciate it if you could please check out my videos on youtube J:http://www.youtube.com/user/Vixenspirit?feature=mhee

  
**Chapter Fifteen**

  
**Unfinished**

 

 

Mercifully Scabior didn’t dream of the Granger woman that night. Despite his discomfort and fidgeting on the sofa, he had a reasonably good night’s sleep. When he woke, he took a second to work out where he was and why. Almost immediately he craned his neck back on the arm of the sofa so that he could see past the back of it, his eyes instantly falling on her.

Chestnut brown curls lay strewn across his pillow and thick, long lashes framed her closed eyes. Scabior was relieved to see that the young woman had more colour to her now, unlike the previous day’s death mask. She was curled beneath the blanket, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that told him that she was still in a deep sleep.  
  
Scabior stood and stretched, letting out a quiet groan as he did so. He was still dressed in his shirt and trousers from the previous day. He moved silently to the bathroom where he washed, trying to refresh himself a little. When he emerged from the tiny, cubicle-sized room, he checked on the young woman again, this _Granger_ girl.

Sure enough, Scabior saw that she was still sound asleep, so he used the opportunity to step outside the hut, locking and warding it behind him. He walked across the clearing and continued beyond the borders of the cabin’s wards. He apparated as soon as he crossed the border and after spinning to a stop, found his feet on the floor of his tatty apartment once more.  
  
Scabior set to work, grabbing her washed garments from the temporary magical washing line he had put up, and grabbed her bra from the floor. The place was a state, but he had no time to fix it. He grabbed her coat and his, ensuring that any trace of her was removed from the apartment. If anyone came searching, he didn’t want them to find any evidence of her.

Scabior apparated back to the forest, just beyond the boundaries of the hut’s wards. As always, he lay in hiding, just waiting for any sign of life other than his. As usual there was nothing and within ten minutes of waiting behind a tree, he decided it was safe to return.  
  
Once Scabior was back inside the hut, he pulled his washing out of the large sack that he slung off his back and onto the floor.  Damn he had a lot of washing. That was when he shrugged and decided that it would give the girl something to do to keep her out of trouble. He glanced up and over at the sleeping young woman in his bed. The fire was dying out, in need of more wood but the room was still warm. Her cheeks were flushed, and she had what looked like a comfortable smile on her face. She looked cosy and comfortable for the first time since she’d been in his presence.  
  
Scabior tore himself away from her then, surprised at the apparent difficulty he had, but he needed to return to his usual job… Snatching.  
  
Scabior silently opened the door to the small storage room before unlocking the wooden trunk he had placed things in the night before. He would hide her wand in there for now. She wouldn’t know, and he wouldn’t run the risk of any other Snatchers finding it on his person.  
After putting her belongings in the trunk, he scribbled a quick note on a piece of paper to her.

_Princess, I’ve gone out. Got work to do. Don’t think about trying to leave, the doors and windows are warded. Keep out of trouble and do the washing in the corner, and tonight I’ll make sure you have dinner and I’ll return your jeans._

_Scabior._

Scabior knew it was cruel, but he needed something to barter with. The girl was a wild one really, wilder than he had first thought. If he didn’t use something against her to encourage her good behaviour, she’d soon cause a riot. Unfortunately, the only thing he had was her trousers and the threat of starving her. It wasn’t ideal, especially when he was trying to make things up to her.

Scabior had to leave, knowing he had not been present for any meetings in the past few days. It wasn’t unlike him to stay camped out and a lot of the other groups did too, but it wouldn’t help to counter any doubts Lucius Malfoy may still have about him and his part in her escape. Scabior knew he would have to work extra hard Snatching over the next few days to make it look like everything was as it normally was… and of course, it wasn’t.

  
                  *                  *                  *                  *

  
Hermione rolled over, smiling to herself. It had been a long time since she’d been so warm and so snug. The floor didn’t seem as hard as usual. Wherever Harry had decided to set up camp, he had chosen well. She couldn’t hear wind or rain, or anything. Usually Ron snored or played the radio. Didn’t Harry usually wake her up once he’d risen?

That was when the rush of memories returned, making her heart heavy. Suddenly feeling heavy and full of regret, Hermione forced herself to sit up. She could see through the window above the kitchen counter, that it had snowed in the night. At least there was some sun shining in that morning. That was when she looked at the sofa, expecting the sleeping Snatcher to be there but found the sofa was empty. Her eyes travelled the length of the room but found that Snatcher was absent from it.  
  
Hermione climbed out of bed, looking about, ears straining before she called through to check if he was in the bathroom. When there came no sound and no reply, her heart began to beat in excitement.  
  
He was gone.  
  
She hurried over to the door and tried the handle, but the door barely rattled under all her force. It, like the apartment had been, was magically warded.

“Fuck!” It was very unlike her to swear, but she had no audience to be polite in front of and she had very little care or patience left. She stood, looking about the room for a moment before hiking up the large shirt she still wore. She climbed precariously onto the kitchen unit, kneeling on it and reached out to the mullioned windows. Again, she found that the windows barely rattled as she tried to open them. They wouldn’t open an inch.  
  
“ _Fuck!_ ” This time her expletive was louder, angrier. She looked around desperately at the cabin from the top of the kitchen counter. Anything that she could have used as a weapon had been packed away in that trunk in the store cupboard. The door and windows were shut fast and she didn’t have her wand.  How the hell was she supposed to get out of there?

Hermione climbed down from the countertop, wandering over to the clothes the Snatcher had handed to her the night before. At least she could clean her teeth and brush her hair, she considered. It was a small blessing but at that moment she’d take any that she could get. If she couldn’t escape, at least she could make herself feel a little more human. Surely the better she felt, the stronger she would be once she got an opportunity?

Unfortunately, however grateful she had been to the Snatcher, he had failed to give her any trousers.

Hermione headed into the tiny bathroom to freshen up. Washing her face and brushing her teeth made her feel so much better and after a quick strip wash, being able to change into clean underwear was a blessing. She pulled on a pair of the black pants and the matching lace, black bra, and damn it if he didn’t have expensive taste. Hermione had never been able to afford underwear like that before and on the rare occasion that she could, she had never found the need for it. She had always preferred to spend her money on books and potions ingredients above everything else.  
  
Merlin, she missed her books.

Hermione lamented the loss of several old tomes and volumes of spell books, potions books and even a few on the Dark Arts. She had felt it best to be aware of what they were trying to defend against, even if every time she opened them up, leafing through their pages, she felt uncomfortable. Something the locket had made a habit of pointing out to her. Voldemort’s voice had pierced her mind, her blood chilling as the Horcrux tried to tempt her, telling her to try them, just once.  
  
Hermione shook the disturbing memory from her head before she peeled off the large, cream coloured shirt- which now looked a lot grubbier than it did cream. She would have to see about washing it later. She hurriedly pulled on one of the black t shirts, finding it to be more fitting than she was used to. She frowned down at her chest. The t-shirt had a very generous V-necked collar that showed a bit more of her skin than she would have liked. Quickly she pulled on the burgundy jumper, wishing that he had provided her with trousers, or at the very least _something_ to wear on the bottom half of her body.

Before Hermione fully emerged from the small wash closet, she peered out and looked around the cabin to ensure that that Snatcher was still missing. Grateful that he was, she left the confines of the wash closet and scoured the room for something to wear on her bottom half. The only thing she could think of was the blanket she had slept beneath the previous night.  
  
As she wrapped the blanket around her waist, she noticed the pile of clothes on the other side of the room, on the floor next to some of the kitchen cupboards. How she’d managed to miss it she wasn’t sure. She’d been too intent on finding a way to escape. She frowned, looking around the cabin to see what else she’d missed and realized that the Snatcher had left a note on the sofa for her.  
  
Hermione read the note with a scowl.  
  
_What-a-pig!_  
  
So that was his game. He was going to hold her jeans and meals hostage if she didn’t do what he said? Well he’d have another thing coming. She could play him at his own game. He’d already proven that he wasn’t about to let her starve. He’d even said it himself. So, she decided that she’d wash some of his clothes. She’d wash the cream shirt that she could use for sleeping in, and she’d wash a pair of his trousers if she could find any that might fit her.  
  
Although Hermione had been brought up in a Muggle house-hold, she was surprised to find out how much she missed the use of her wand, even for mundane tasks such as washing clothes. The cabin had no Muggle washing machine, of course, and she had no use of a wand to do as Mrs Weasley always did. Hermione realized she was going to have to wash the clothes by hand in the kitchen sink.  
  
The frown she gave the dirty pots and dishes from the night before was equal to the one she usually gave him. Stupid, bloody Snatcher, he was doing this on purpose! He could easily have used magic to make those pots and pans wash themselves the previous night. But _no_ , he had left them for _her_ to do.  
  
Hermione mumbled under her breath to herself as she rolled up her sleeves. All she had to do was pretend that she was back at the Burrow. That’s right, she was simply helping Molly out with the household chores. As Hermione lifted one of the bowls, an earwig crawled out from underneath it, making her drop the bowl and back up hurriedly. She tried not to cringe, tried not to be a typical girl about it, but she couldn’t help that the hairs on her body had gone on end.

Shaking off the crawling feeling in her skin, Hermione stepped back up to the sink and ran the water, muttering a quiet apology to the bug in question. Once the pots and bowls were washed, she began to wash the sink out, wiping it clean, which took a little elbow grease on her part. Then, finally, after digging through the cupboards she was able to find a small box of Wizard Wally’s Washing Soap.  
  
It didn’t take Hermione too long to scrub the items of clothing she had chosen, clean. She decided to wash everything she had worn the night before so that it could be worn that night. She scrubbed hard at the over-sized shirt and eventually it came up cream again. Next she had to rifle through the pile of dirty clothes, trying to avoid anything that resembled dirty boxers.

Unfortunately, Hermione found that all the trousers were still too big, but she decided she’d rather wear them than the grand total of nothing but pants, on her bottom half. She picked a random pair and began scrubbing at them. Hermione wouldn’t consider them clean until she had scrubbed them both inside and out almost five times. The idea of wearing his trousers gave her the exact same squeamish feeling that the earwig in the sink had.

Once the clothes were washed, she pulled the fireguard away from the fire a bit, before draping them across it. She would have to keep a very close eye on them, she knew the dangers live fires could cause and she didn’t know if the Snatcher had any charms up to prevent them. With that thought came the awful realisation that filled her with dread. What if there was a fire? Would she be able to escape? Because those charms kept both the door and windows warded, so how would she get out?

Again, Hermione had to shake the horrible realisation from her head, and she made sure to keep an eye on the clothes. She left the pile of laundry where the Snatcher had left it and went over to the store cupboard, finding that it was locked and warded as well. If she could somehow get it open, at least she would have a weapon.

  
                  *                  *                  *                  *

Scabior was shattered. He’d been running around all bloody day supposedly looking for the same bloody Mudblood that he had hidden back in the cabin. Malfoy’s orders had been spread to two other units as well as his own. He wanted Potter and that girl badly, and Scabior knew why. If Malfoy could produce the pubescent that had evaded the Dark Lord’s grasp, rendering him virtually powerless as a baby, then he could return to his former glory. Scabior was no fool. The Malfoys had been born and bred with wealth and power, now they didn’t have it; it was all they craved… That, and revenge.  
  
Scabior kept up the act; he tortured a man in the dingy end of Diagon Ally, his band of Snatchers bearing witness to it. He questioned the man about the whereabouts of Potter, the blood traitor Weasley and the Granger girl, knowing that he couldn’t answer. He held the Cruciatus curse over the man, knowing that he had nothing to do with the adolescents’ disappearances.

All Scabior could do was keep up the facade and keep searching for Potter and the blood traitor. He couldn’t help but sneer as he thought about the redhead. What the hell did she see in _him_ anyway? Other than the usual Gryffindor stupidity, all he could see was a stupid, immature boy. He could never be enough for her surely? The dithering blockhead had let her get captured, had failed to rescue her and then let her get captured again! As far as Scabior could work out she was smarter than the two boys put together…

Which made him wary about keeping both his wand and hers away from her.  
  
By nightfall Scabior was trudging through the alleyways of London, keeping his ears strained, listening to check he wasn’t being followed. When he was more than sure that he wasn’t, he apparated on the spot, landing easily in the same area of the forest that he had left from that morning. The forest was big, deep and nearly always deserted other than the wildlife. But since the Snatchers had been stretching out, moving across the country Scabior still had to watch his back.

Scabior hurried back to the clearing, seeing nothing in it until he passed the borders of his charms, sure that no one was in the vicinity. He looked up at the cabin, glad to note that it hadn’t somehow been destroyed by the wild girl inside it. He shrugged the snow from his coat and kicked at the layer of snow that had now built up around the door. With a few flicks of his wand, the wards fell from the lock and he was able to tug the door open.

Scabior was grateful for the heat that flowed from the cabin as he entered. It had been a long day and not only was he tired, but he was cold as well. He was looking forward to getting in, changing into clean clothes and then cooking a meal before bed. His eyes fell on the girl the moment he got through the door, who sat on the far end of the sofa, looking up at him precariously.

“Alright?” was his greeting, but he didn’t wait for a response. His eyes fell on the pile of laundry he had left for her to wash, and then on the clean clothes draped over the fireguard. The little chit had washed nothing other than the clothes he had suggested she used as nightwear. 

“I’m pretty sure my note _was_ clear on your instructions fer today.” Scabior held the anger and the rage back as much as he could, but it was evident in his voice that he was more than a little bit peeved.

The Snatcher was annoyed, but so was she. He had no right to keep her there, and no right to order her around. She took a deep breath and let it out in an indignant huff, before turning away from him, trying to ignore his very presence. She had been bored all day. The storage cupboard wouldn’t open, even when she tried to prise it open with a spoon, which bent under the strain. What was just as bad was that, in the entire hut, there was not a single book.

Hermione didn’t care what he said, she wasn’t his slave, and he couldn’t keep her there.  
  
The Granger woman’s indignant huff and turn of the head was enough to make his anger rise. He had been out working all day to keep the Snatchers off her trail and this was the thanks he got?  
  
“Fine…” he growled lowly as he pulled off his wet coat, the red band glaring back at him in the lamplight. He hung the coat up a little fiercely. “No jeans.”  
  
That was when he flicked his wand at the kitchen window, causing the curtains to draw across them, blocking the snowy landscape from view. Next he flicked his wand at the laundry pile and set the clothes to washing themselves magically. It was going to be another late night.

“That’s fine.” Her arrogant, indignant, grating voice snipped back at him and he turned to see from the corner of the kitchen that she was wearing _his_ trousers.  
  
“Take them off.” He growled loudly at her, pointing his wand at her.

“No thanks.” the girl retorted haughtily, crossing her arms.  
  
“Now.” He warned; his voice low.

“Give me back my jeans then!” Hermione argued back, not as afraid as she had been the day before. It seemed her anger was greater than her fear now.  
  
“I mean it witch,” The Snatcher’s accent seemed heavier than usual as he shouted, but she stood her ground, getting to her feet now. “I am not in the mood. Take them off now!”

“Give me back my jeans!” Her hands balled into fists at her sides.  
  
“Take them off!”  
  
“No!”

Only Salazar knew why he didn’t just swipe his wand through the air and magic them from her body, but he advanced on her instead. So quickly the tension had risen, his skin tight from it as he headed towards her.

Hermione didn’t care, her heart was pounding, but she didn’t care. He couldn’t do this. She wasn’t his slave. She moved hurriedly to put the sofa between the two of them, standing behind the arm of the sofa nearest the table.

“I’ve had a _very_ tiring day, Mudblood.” He was growling and shouting at her, but she stood her ground, prepared to shout and growl back. “When you’re told t’ do something, I expect yer to do it!”

The man was moving around one end of the sofa as he spoke, so she moved to go the other way, but he was a Snatcher and she wasn’t. She hadn’t even played Quidditch at school, so when he feinted a move to the left, she moved to the right but let out a cry when he moved so fast towards her that she almost ran into him.  
  
It was easy for Scabior to fool her into what direction to move in. He made a swift move towards her, ready to grab her. She surprised him though at how fast she scrambled backwards.  
  
Hermione’s instincts drove her, and she obeyed them, hurrying backwards, trying to get away from his looming figure.

“I-I’m not your slave!” She shrieked at him; her frown so low that her head almost hurt.

“I think you’ll find yer are…” The Snatcher informed her. “Although I guess yer could always be demoted…” They were between the sofa and the bed now and she was hurrying backward, headed towards the door and the kitchen end of the hut.

“To what? There is no lower form of humiliation than that!” She shouted angrily back at him, her voice sounding cracked from how sore her throat was.

They had moved in a circle, the stubborn chit had nowhere to run, but he wasn’t going to let her disrespect him. He wasn’t going to let her get away with not doing as she was told.

“Yer could become my pet?” He suggested darkly, smiling and licking his upper lip.

“You make me sick.” She uttered in disgust.

“No? How’s ‘bout I just tie yer up outside then, like a dog?” The young woman made a growling noise at him then, almost making him laugh. “Either way, I’ll be takin’ those trousers back.”

They were standing in front of the fire now, Hermione still edging backwards away from him as he made his threats. That was when she felt her heel go down on the back of his trousers. The damn things had been far too big. Now the bottoms had rolled down in her hurried retreat and as she stepped back, the material slipped on the wooden floor and she fell.

First, Hermione felt a blinding pain in the back of her head and cried out as it connected with the floor. Her head reached back to hold her head. She had barely blinked the lights that flashed in front of her eyes away before she realized he was upon her.

Scabior pounced, taking his moment, the opportunity. Sickeningly, he realised that he should probably care that she had just smacked her head hard on the floor. He should probably care how he looked to her, straddling her legs and leaning over her. But he didn’t. He’d had a shitty day, and the one thing he had requested of her she had refused. Better to nip her rebelliousness in the bud now, than suffer with far worse later.

“Get off of me!” The strangled cry came from beneath him as the young woman began to push and struggle against him. Her hands reached up, pushing at his chest as she thrashed beneath him, twisting her body about to buck him from it. It was a futile attempt. His hands had gone straight to the belt buckle on the trousers, he saw that she’d had to make an extra hole in his belt and growled.  
  
“I gave yer a chance to take them off. Yer refused…” he was pushing at her hands as they reached up to push his face away as he leant into her. “So, _I’m_ takin’ them off.”  
  
“What the… hell…” Hermione was struggling, trying to keep his hands away from the belt as he fought to undo it. “…is… _wrong_ with you?”  
  
Her voice sounded torn as the question ripped the air between them. He had no answer for her. No fucking clue, other than- it was her.  
  
_She_ was what was wrong with him.  
  
Scabior ignored her, pushing one of her arms above her head and he heard her intake of breath as her hand smacked against the wooden floor. Again he was aware of how much he almost cared, knowing it might have hurt her, how tightly he was holding her wrist.  
  
Hermione heard as he managed to unbuckle the belt, growled and struggled furiously against him.

_Why hadn’t he just given her jeans back?! Why hadn’t he just let her go?!_

Why it was so important to Scabior to tear his trousers from her, he had no idea. But now he was there, struggling against her, engulfed by her scent… he couldn’t help but be glad he had chosen not to use his wand.

“Get off of me- you- you- beast!” Hermione’s free hand reached out, scratching his face and he hissed before finally catching her free hand in his.  
  
“You’ll regret that.” Scabior spoke slowly and cruelly, down into her face. Her eyes were fires, blazing angrily back at him. Suddenly she spat at him and he felt the horrendous urge to backhand her for it. He went back to his previous task, moving her other arm above her head and taking both of her wrists in his large hand. He tore the button from his own trousers in his brash attempt to pull them from her. He made a vague mental note to get her to sew it back on later.

Both of Hermione’s wrists were in his hand above her head, and despite how much she twisted and turned she couldn’t free herself from under him. The button on the trousers skidded across the floor as she made strangled noises in her attempt to escape his grasp. She had left a nice red scratch on his face, but it wasn’t enough. He was still tugging the trousers down, over her hips.  
  
“Stop it! Stop it!” Hermione screamed finally, because fear had hit her again. That sensation of dread was seeping inside her skin again. The same monstrous fear that had her replaying his wrongdoings back at the apartment. Not that she’d ever forgotten what he did, what he was, but that terror swelled inside her once again. She saw the storm that raged inside his rain coloured eyes, horror enveloping her, too close… just like he was.

With the expression of absolute terror that had flashed before she finally closed her eyes tightly, Scabior swallowed past the lump in his throat. He released her arms, keeping a tight hold of the fabric on one of the trouser legs. He moved his weight from her, on all fours above her now. As he predicted, she shuffled back, shaking and kicking her legs free from his trousers just so that she could quickly get away from him.

Scabior couldn’t help but glance at her creamy, slender legs, seeing the slightest bit of black lace before the burgundy jumper covered the rest. She was on her feet now, had scrambled round the back of the sofa, using it to both hide behind and protect herself from him.

Neither would really work.  
  
“What is _wrong_ with you?” the Granger girl breathed again, her chest heaving. Scabior could almost hear the tears in her words before they threatened to fall from her eyes. He watched as she swiped at her hot, fiery eyes furiously before he got to his feet, trousers in hand.

“Told yer to take ‘em off.” he shrugged, suddenly feeling a lot better now he had scared the little chit into submission. Well, not really submission. The defiance in those eyes told him that she’d never submit to him, not really. But he had won in the end and that was what mattered.

“You can’t do this!” she shouted angrily again. “You can’t keep me here!”

“Think you’ll find I can, pet.” he sniggered, turning back to the kitchen where the clothes had finished washing themselves. With a flick of his wand, the clothes were flying through the air, hovering as though over a washing line between the sofa and the fire.

“No, you can’t!” Hermione was shouting, knowing that it would do no good, but she shouted anyway, even if only to vent her frustration.

“Fine. Yer wanna go out there?” Scabior pointed at the window, where she could see the falling snow. “Then be my guest.”

Hermione wanted to slap his smirk from his face.  
  
“Give me back my wand and jeans.” She demanded, stern and serious about leaving.  
  
“That’s not part of the deal.” Scabior said shortly, smiling darkly at her before turning back to the kitchen counter.

“I hate you! I really- fucking- hate you!” Hermione screamed at him, tears building, her anger pounding in her head and her hatred left a bitter taste on her tongue as she shouted the words at him.

“Tha’s fine wit’ me.” He didn’t even turn around, didn’t even glance back at her.

Hermione let out a low growl, grabbing the nearest thing she could find. Without thinking she threw the oil lamp at him. She had berated and scolded Ron so many times for this sort of behaviour, and this time she didn’t even consider thinking before she threw it across the room at him, hoping it made contact, hoping it hurt.

The Snatcher turned, just in time, and she saw his eyes widen before his wand extinguished the flame inside the lamp. In his haste to extinguish the lamp, his spell didn’t only work on that lamp. The flames in the rest of the room died as well, plunging them into total darkness.

Hermione was panting, breathing fast, leaning back against the bed. She had heard the smashing glass of the oil lamp colliding with something, but she had no idea if it had hit the Snatcher, or the floor. She tried to blink, tried to see through the darkness but she couldn’t. So, she tried to calm her breathing, because she could hear nothing over the hammering of her heart, her panting and the pounding of sudden silence in her head.

Scabior could hear her fear. He almost felt bad for it, almost. He wasn’t heartless, he could understand why she’d done it and he almost wanted to sooth her, comfort her… almost. So many damn almosts. But the bitch had just thrown the oil lamp at him so not only could _he_ have caught on fire, but the cabin might have too.  
  
It was easy for him to move in the darkness, and he was so skilled at being light on his feet, on making no sound as he moved around. It took him no time at all to be a foot away from her, and she had no idea. She was just standing there, trying to quieten her breathing.

Hermione couldn’t hear him. Wasn’t that a good sign? All she had to do now was make her way over to the kitchen and grab his wand. So, she turned, made contact with something and screamed.

Hermione was suddenly pushed backward, falling flatly against the bed, her breath catching in surprise as the Snatcher held her down, one hand flat on her chest.

“Give me back the other clothes.” His voice was a slow snarl, an angry growl and it made her shiver in fear despite herself. Her skin was awash with dread, the terror seeping into the bones, which ached from how aware of his touch she was.

“No.” Hermione managed to let out a breathy gasp, unable to move, completely paralyzed in the darkness. Although she could barely make him out in front of her, his features hidden by the dark, she was sure she was caught in his gaze.

 Suddenly hands were reaching for her out of the darkness, grabbing at her jumper.

“No!” She screeched out, fighting against him desperately. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

High-pitched screams tore through the dark cabin. Her shrieks were full of fear and laced with despair. He could almost taste it soaking into his tongue. She flung her arms out before her to protect herself.

He’d scared her enough, he knew it. He knew she’d behave now.

“Lumos.”  
  
The light blinded Hermione for a second, making her jolt before she squinted up. Both the Snatcher’s wand and his face were moments from hers.

“Am I t’ presume that you’ve quite finished?” The last two words were heavy with something close to disdain, and too much like a warning.

“Y-yes.” She barely breathed the word up at him, as he still had a handful of her jumper at the neck. Her back was arching off the bed, and he was holding her up, his grip tight.  
  
“I suggest yer _never_ try _that_ again.”

Hermione nodded, and wholly agreed with him. It had been a stupid, dangerous thing to do and she was lucky he hadn’t killed her… or worse.

“And you’re sorry ent you?” Scabior added, still furious at the little bitch.  
  
“Y-Yes.”

Her voice was barely a squeak as he held her jumper, her back arching off the bed in an uncomfortable position. But she dared not move, didn’t want to remind him that her legs were bare and that she wore nothing on her bottom half but the pants he had given her.

“Right.” Slowly Scabior lowered her back down to the bed, still piercing her eyes with his. “Now I suggest yer get to bed… Yer ent eating tonight.”  
  
Hermione didn’t need to argue with him. She would gladly crawl under those covers and hopefully disappear there. This wasn’t something she knew how to be brave about. Gryffindor or not, she was in hell. Other than keeping herself safe, and hopefully keeping her virtue, she could do nothing else. This wasn’t a war she could wield a wand in. She was unarmed, and powerless, and for a moment there, that man had taken away any bravery and courage she possessed.

The Snatcher released Hermione then, and as he moved away, she found that she could breathe again. She clambered onto the bed and scrambled over to the far side of it, pulling the covers over her head. Hermione lay there, curled beneath the blankets like a first year Hufflepuff, trying to hide from him. She tried to calm her heart as it beat rapidly inside her chest. Sniffing, she fought to hide the sounds of her sobbing, hoped that the blanket would muffle any of the despairing sounds escaping her lips.

Hermione wanted solace, a sanctuary that the blanket above her head could never offer her. She hated this fear, this helplessness she felt, but most of all, as she lay in that makeshift hiding place, she hated that all she could smell was him.

 

  
A/N: Please let me know what you think? >_< xxx  
  
By the way guys, if you follow me on tumblr and would like me to I can message you all when there's an update so that you don't miss it. Just drop me a message if you'd like to be added to the list. :)

My tumbler <https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gryffindorgirl7777> 

 

 


	16. Understanding

 

New A/N: So, I’ve had a lot going on with the hospital and stuff. Are you guys still reading and enjoying the fic? I’m pathetically insecure. lol

  
Original A/N: Hey all. Special thanks for Kate Weston for her help with the pheasant in this chapter lol. :)   
  
Tumblr: http://gryffindorgirl7777.tumblr.com/  
Youtube: http://www.youtube.com/user/Vixenspirit?feature=mhee

Next chapter already written so remind me in a couple of days and I'll post it >_< x

 

  
**Chapter Sixteen.**

  
**Understanding.**

 

The next morning occurred much the same as the one before. The only difference was Scabior’s mood. He was still annoyed that the little chit had disobeyed him and that had resulted in him losing his temper. He had been trying to make moves to show her that he wasn’t as bad as he could be around her, but she was tearing those efforts to shreds.  
  
_Stupid Mudblood._  
  
Scabior set about making himself ready for work, pulling on the clean clothes that he had dried the night before. Whilst the girl had curled beneath the blankets and sobbed quietly to herself, he had relit the fire and the surrounding lamps. He had then prepared a meal for himself, eaten and then fallen into a fitful sleep on the sofa. He didn’t even want to _try_ and remember what he had dreamt about.  
  
Scabior glanced up at the girl, her back to him as he pulled a shirt on over his head. He had heard the rhythm of her deep sleep suddenly break and now he could tell she was holding her breath, had stiffened slightly in fear and was now pretending that she was still asleep. He’d let her pretend. He had nothing to say to her anyway. He began to do up the shirt buttons, revelling in how clean it was compared to the previous one he’d been wearing.  
  
Not long later Scabior went to leave, but paused at the door, glancing back at the curled up form of the girl beneath his bed covers. With a frustrated growl he gave a lazy flick of his wand and a murmur. The ladle suddenly floated into the air before scooping up some of the previous night’s dinner and emptying it into a bowl, which flew from a nearby shelf.

Scabior knew that rewarding her after her behaviour the previous night was soft on her, but after leaving her without food the previous night, he knew he couldn’t let her go hungry all day again. With another small growl, more at himself than anything, he pulled on his coat and left the cabin.

  
The second Hermione heard the door slam shut she hurried from the bed. She ran straight to the door, already knowing it was hopeless, but still having to try. She yanked on the door handle, making the door shake in its frame as she tugged at it. But the door held firm, as she predicted it would, so she quickly gave up, turning then to the food on the counter.

Hermione hated the Snatcher’s guts, there was no doubt in that, but he sure could cook. Hermione had re-heated the stew the Snatcher had left out for her on the stove and dragged the blanket from the bed. She wrapped it around her waist before settling down on the sofa. She shivered as she hungrily ate the stew, the fire was beginning to die out but there was nothing she could do about it. There were no logs left by the fire and it wasn’t like she could go out and cut more.

She ate heartily, her stomach happy to actually have a meal in it. But she couldn’t get her mind off the events from the previous night. She had to get out of there. There had to be a way for her to convince him to let her go.

_How was she ever going to escape?_  
  
Her mind had been ticking around, trying to find an answer to that question, since she had been taken. It still had no answers. She pulled her knees up in front of her, hugging her legs and she shivered in the burgundy jumper again. Soon she would get up, get washed, dressed and get changed and then she would work on a plan for her release… soon.  


Scabior ached as he trudged through the forest. Not that he ever really _trudged_ per se. More, he moved silently in a bit of a huff. He had been a victim of that mad Lestrange woman’s wrath that afternoon. He felt like his body would splinter when she held the Cruciatus Curse over him and all because no one could find that stupid boy. The boy that wouldn’t just bloody well die. For fuck’s sake, why hadn’t he just killed himself in his first year of school and done everyone a favour? Because Scabior just couldn’t see it. He couldn’t see how that one boy was the answer to all the Wizarding World’s problems.  
  
Voldemort had been in hiding for eleven years whilst that boy grew up, and had the world been a better place for it? No. Well maybe, for some people, but then, those people already had wealth, they weren’t living in poverty. They had enough money to piss away and sadly Scabior hadn’t been one of those people… and Salazar how he hated them for that.

The Mudblood jumped from her seat on the floor in front of the fire as Scabior crashed in through the front door. He made a mental note to stop making her do that, to stop making her flinch every time he used his wand. He was only making things more difficult for himself. With barely a glance at the girl on the floor he held his hand out expectantly.

Hermione scowled but silently stood, letting the blanket that had covered her bottom half fall away revealing that she was wearing the Snatcher’s trousers. Why hadn’t she been stuck with a _dumb_ Snatcher?

Scabior waited patiently, looking at the sink to see that she had eaten and then washed up her things. He silently nodded in approval of that before turning back to the girl.

Hermione shoved the trousers over her hips, tugging them off before stepping out of the clean pair of trousers she had taken from the clean pile by the fireplace. She may have broken his rules by wearing his trousers again, but this time he said nothing, and she wasn’t stupid enough to argue again like the previous night.

“ _Thaaank_ yer.” Scabior said mockingly as she marched forward and handed him the pair of his trousers that she had been wearing. Her eyes burned into his as she glowered at him. He ignored the fact that he could still feel her body heat in the material and let her return to the blanket on the floor.

Hermione wrapped the blanket around her, feeling the cold even more now that the fire had gone out, leaving only a couple of embers in the sooty mess of the fireplace.  
  
“Yer cook and I’ll get firewood…” The Snatcher began. “Deal?”

Hermione nodded, not wanting a repeat of the previous night and, more than anything, wanting some warmth in the room again. She watched as he stepped back outside, warding the door again, before she struggled over to the kitchen, still wrapped in the blanket.

Hermione began to search the bare cupboards and shelves. She found a few jars of pickles, beetroot and gherkins but apart from the few vegetables that were beginning to turn, she found nothing suitable for dinner. In the end Hermione had to admit defeat and looked out of the window to see if the Snatcher was anywhere nearby.  
  
Hermione started slightly when she saw him, cutting wood on the edge of the small clearing. She couldn’t help but watch him as he raised the axe above his head before bringing it down on a chunk of wood, and as though mesmerized, she watched as he repeated the action over and over.  


Scabior was growling, angrily bringing the axe down and wishing that it were Bellatrix Lestrange’s head. He could use magic to do what he was, sure, but then he wouldn’t get the satisfaction that he did from doing it by hand. Besides, he had done it the muggle way since he was a boy, what did it matter if he did it that way now? He wiped his brow, breathing heavily in the cold evening air. He felt a pair of eyes on him, as he had done for a while and he knew whom they belonged to. He was just choosing to ignore them.

After another fifteen minutes of chopping wood, he decided that, not only did they have enough wood, but also that his body ached too much to continue. That and he couldn’t ignore the burning of her eyes anymore. He turned, a scowl still on his face as he leant on the axe as he turned to look at the Mudblood. He saw that she was sitting on the kitchen counter, watching him. He shook his head in confusion and annoyance. She was supposed to be cooking. Was she going to ignore everything he told her to do?

However, as Scabior flicked his wand for the pile of wood to follow him, he saw how relaxed she looked. Her head resting against the windowpane as she looked out, occasionally wiping the condensation from the glass. She looked so relaxed, like watching him chop wood was a natural thing for the pair of them.  
  
“ _What_ ‘re yer doing?” The Snatcher questioned as he came through the door, sending the pile of wood into the corner by the fire.

Hermione immediately jumped down from the counter, not wanting him to start shouting at her before she could explain. She glanced at his wand and flinched as he flicked it again, but it was only to send some of the wood into the fireplace.

Scabior didn’t like it, and it really shouldn’t bother him, but he didn’t like that she flinched whenever he flicked his wand.

“There’s nothing to cook.” Hermione said, a little too quickly for her liking. She watched, wanting to kick herself as he stood and blinked down at her. “I looked…” she added, just because.

Because she couldn’t help that her heart was beating faster now that he was close, and because she couldn’t help but be afraid of him. Because she felt the need to justify her own words… Merlin, what was happening to her?

The Snatcher’s eyes moved beyond her, looking at the open cupboard before he looked back at her.

“Get the fire goin’ again… I’ll be back.” At that he headed to the door.

Hermione ran towards it, taking a chance, just before it shut. Her body slammed up against it, pushing to keep him from shutting it. She needed to get out. To be free. She thought she heard him let out a sigh but then she was falling forward.  
  
Scabior felt her pushing against the door, hardly a force against him at all, but he was still irritated by her escape attempts. He pulled the door open again and stood still as she fell forward into him. She looked up at him slowly, righting herself and moving away, because every time she touched him, she felt that jolt, fear and hate and something.

Scabior watched her straighten back up, too disgusted that she had touched him. He sneered at her then, before slamming the door without a word.  
  
_Damn._

Hermione stood at the door, panting slightly and staring back at the door.

_Damn._

_*                      *                      *                      *_

The Snatcher returned a while later. Hermione glanced up from where she had been leaning on the kitchen countertop, awaiting him. She had been watching the fire, mesmerised as the flame’s tongues swayed and danced but was interrupted by his reappearance. He looked like he had been running and in one hand he had a plucked bird of some sort and in the other he had a potato sack.

“Here.” The Snatcher murmured, and Hermione blanched slightly as he shoved the dead bird and heavy sack in front of her. She took the sack, almost dropping it because of how heavy it was, but she wouldn’t take the bird. How was she supposed to prepare and cook that for dinner without the use of magic? It would take hours to cook.   
  
Scabior sneered at her, before flicking his wand to magically prepare the pheasant for cooking. He ignored her again as she flinched again. He hated it. Hated that she now expected the worst from him, and who could really blame her?

Hermione worked in silence beside the Snatcher. He had unlocked the store cupboard and pulled out the trunk. Hermione glanced towards it and then back to him, wondering if she could make it across the room before he hit her with a curse.   
  
“Don’t even think about it.” The Snatcher warned her, pointing his wand in her direction before unlocking the trunk. He pulled out the chopping knife again and began to prepare the bird, instructing her to wash the vegetables. She was wary about standing too close to him. His proximity made her all too aware of her skin. It felt taught, the electricity between the two of them made it tingle.

Hermione took deep breaths to calm her beating heart and focused only on washing the vegetables she pulled from the potato sack. She flinched when he moved towards her, freezing in place. She and let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding on to when she saw that he was moving vegetables from the sack, into the cupboard beside him. There was no way that Hermione was going to voice her thoughts, but she highly suspected that all the produce had been stolen.

It really wasn’t that bad, standing and working alongside her. He had thought it would be worse, that she would attempt to grab the knife and stab him with it, but surprisingly she didn’t. The only movement she made that had nothing to do with the dinner preparations, was to wrap the blanket about her waist tighter.

Dinner was eaten in silence, Hermione on the sofa and he at the table, his chair turned towards her again. The pheasant had been easy to steal, the vegetables he had needed to search amongst another farmer’s barn, but it had all been worth it. At least now he had some food. He had grabbed bread and eggs and other such items and shoved them in the sack with the vegetables. He wouldn’t have to worry about that for a while.

Scabior looked over at the girl, her hair was a mess, she was still wrapped in her blanket and was wearing the same jumper she had slept in the night before. He had noticed how much distance she kept trying to keep between the two of them. How tense she had been just standing next to him. How was he ever going to make things right? A small part of him was even asking why he was trying. As ever he stamped that part of him down to the dark recess inside of himself.

Whilst the plates and pans were washing themselves in the sink, Scabior decided to throw caution to the air.

“Oi, Princess…” He began. “Do yer want a bath?”  
  
Hermione looked up at the word, feeling her body cry out at the suggestion. But then, this was him, and she was beginning to get an idea of what he was like.  
  
“What’s the catch?” Hermione asked, glowering at him her eyes moving to scrutinise his, trying to catch any lies he might tell her.

“No catch.” He shook his head at her. “I need one too.”

“Ha!” Hermione let out a small bark of laughter at his words before her words were cold again. “I’m not bathing with you.”

Scabior chuckled at her then, unable to help himself, because he hadn’t even considered it. The fact that she had, for some reason made him laugh.

“I wasn’t suggestin’ yer do luv.” Scabior sniggered at her, and saw her frown deepen as her cheeks turned a little pinker. “Give me a minute and you can have one.”

 

Well, it wasn’t exactly what Hermione had envisaged when she’d agreed to a bath. She stood in the cabin, in front of the fire, looking down at the big metal bathtub that the Snatcher had levitated from the storage cupboard. The water he’d conjured was hot, she could see that, and there was soap, but it was in the middle of the hut.

“You’re kidding right?” Hermione asked, looking at him with her eyebrows raised.  
  
“We ent all Princes and Kings, love. We can’t all afford grand bathrooms wit’ expensive bubbles…” he began, but she cut him off. She wasn’t talking about the tub, or anything like that. She wasn’t stupid or squeamish, (except for earwigs,) and she had slept in the middle of a forest for months now. She knew that was all he had there, and she would rather bathe than not bathe. However…  
  
“I didn’t mean that.” The Granger girl interrupted. “I just meant that… well… I’m not bathing in front of you.”   
  
Scabior shifted back at her exclamation, a little stunned after having presumed she was referring to the lack of bathroom and expensive bubble bath. He didn’t know why but he had expected her to complain about the lack of products he had made available to her. Instead she was complaining at the lack of privacy, and after what he did, he couldn’t blame her.

The Snatcher let out a laugh then, his smooth voice making her body tingle. She berated herself silently for it, confused by it. She took half a step back and had to steel herself, feeling a stab of humiliation.

“Don’t worry Princess.” The Snatcher laughed, as he flicked his wand. “I’ve got yer covered.” At that she watched as a white sheet flew from the open cupboard and hung itself up, hiding her from his view. She shifted uncomfortably, unable to see him now.

“You- you can’t move… and don’t peek okay?” The woman’s startled and anxious voice made him chuckle again. Merlin, she was desperate for a bath. So desperate, in fact, that she was even prepared to risk his perversion.  
  
“Don’t worry, as a gentleman, I swear t’ stay in this seat, an’ won’t try to peak.” Scabior heard her snort loudly at that and smiled to himself. She had cheek.

“I don’t trust you.” Her voice called back and he sighed, making himself comfortable.

“How about I keep tappin’ the table ‘ere? Then you’ll know that I ent moved.” Scabior suggested, as he leant back lazily in his chair. When no further sound of protest came from the young woman beyond the curtain, he exhaled in amusement but said nothing.

Scabior sat, resting his aching body and lit the oil lamps around them with a flick of his wand. He sat in the darkness, the light from the fire and the lamps gave the room a low, dancing, golden light to it. The room was warm from the fire and in the low light it made him feel drowsy. Though he began to drum his fingers on the table, as he had said he would, he did so lazily.    
  
It was not for the first time that Hermione found herself being grateful for the hair removal charm she had found and placed on herself back at the burrow. Although Hermione did consider for the briefest moment that the Snatcher didn’t have that snippet of information. However, she really doubted that he would provide her with a razor that she could use as a weapon, and so she kept quiet, sparing herself the embarrassment of asking.   
  
Hermione looked over in the Snatcher’s direction but couldn’t see him through the sheet that now hung between them. She was dying to sink into that hot, soapy water, so with one last glance at the sheet where the Snatcher was tapping behind, she hurriedly pulled her jumper and t-shirt over her shoulders. Hesitantly she slipped off her pants and bra and then hurried into the water. She pulled her knees up under her chin and wrapped her arms round her legs before looking in the Snatcher’s direction again, listening out for his tapping,  just in case.  
  
Scabior was leaning his face on his hand, his elbow on the table, realising that he was beginning to doze off. His other hand was on the table, his fingers moving against the wood every minute or so. As his head began to dip, his eyelids were heavy as he aimlessly looked at the sheet in front of him.  
  
Salazar he hated Lestrange… his whole body hurt.  
  
As his eyes began to close he realized suddenly that he could see her silhouette through the sheet. He inhaled the smell of shampoo he had put aside for her, inhaled the scent she always carried on her skin.   
  
_Merlin._  
  
His mouth watered.

Hermione rinsed her hair, keeping her eyes closed tightly as she dipped her head beneath the water. She tried to hold her breath, tried to pretend that it was all a nightmare and that when she woke, she’d be back in the tent with Harry and with Ron. But she was also partly trying to convince herself not to drown as it wouldn’t solve her problems. She gasped as she pulled her head above the water and reached for the clean towel the Snatcher had put out for her.  
  
Scabior watched as the young woman stood up, that Granger girl. He heard the water sloshing around her, but his eyes were glued, gazing at the silhouette of her slender legs, tracing the curve of her hips, in at the waist and then out again.

Hermione rubbed the towel against her wet hair before wrapping it around herself tightly. She stepped out of the bath, hurriedly backing up and staring at the sheet, trying to be sure if the was still behind it or not. The light tapping that had become barely audible, had suddenly stopped. She reached down for the clean pants, vest and cream top that she had washed the previous day.

She couldn’t help but panic slightly as she got into them, worried that he would pull the sheet back at any time. Without taking her eyes from that spot, she carefully climbed into her clean panties, yanking them up quickly, just in case he took his chance to peek. Clutching the clothing to her chest, wrapped in just that clean fluffy towel Hermione stood and stared. The warmth of the fire licked at Hermione’s legs, helping her to dry quicker as she tried to ensure that he was still there. He was still behind that sheet, wasn’t he? But she was glued there, eyes and body, as though cast in stone.  
  
“Merlin woman!” His sudden exclamation made her jump, pulling the towel tighter around her, and making sure not to drop the front of it. Yet, didn’t seem to have moved. His voice still came from the chair he had been sat in beyond the divide of the sheet.   
  
“How long are yer gonna take?” Because he didn’t know how much longer he could hold himself back. He was trying to behave better around her, at least give her a reason to behave for him, and here he was, like a prepubescent schoolboy, lusting over the silhouette of the woman just behind that sheet.  
  
“I’m- I’m done.” Hermione called, edging backwards slightly, waiting for that sheet to fall away. Instead he brushed it aside and she felt the heat flush her cheeks as he strode around the makeshift cover that was no longer needed. She noticed that he tried to keep his eyes averted and appreciated it. She watched as he brushed a hand back awkwardly through his tousled and tangled hair. Noticed how he was holding his body, like he was in pain.

“Well, I’m gonna ‘ave a bath now love, so…” he began quietly, waiting to give her the option to stay and witness it or not. Either way, he really didn’t mind.  
  
“O-Okay. I’ll just get changed… in there.” Hermione let the words spill from her lips hurriedly, tripping on them as she pointed at the small bathroom. She knew it would be cold, but also knew that it would be safer in there. Safer from him… and much worse… safer from herself.  
  
What the hell was wrong with her?

As Hermine stood in the wash closet, with her back pressed up against the bathroom door, she knew that it had been a complete and utter retreat. She was now hiding. She had run away, and not just because she didn’t trust him, but because she didn’t trust herself?  
  
That was the far more terrifying thought.  
  
Hermione could admit, if only to herself, that he confused her! He made her so mad, so blood boiling mad, but as he had stepped around that sheet, tired eyes and aching body she had _felt_ for him. _Him!_ Her captor. The man who had torn her from her home; Harry and Ron. Wherever they were was her home and yet he was keeping her from them. Was she going insane?

Of course, the other thing that bothered her was the way her body reacted in his proximity. No. If in his gaze. It was as though her body came alive and she was more aware of her skin than ever. Aware of nerve endings and how they tingled with the electricity that seemed to thrum between the two of them. She was more aware of her sense of touch, of how his scent lingered when he was gone but was so much more enjoyable up close. And wasn’t that the crux of the matter? She shouldn’t be enjoying the way he smelled. Not ever. Not after what he’d done. It was almost as though a dormant part of her was waking up. A beast that was stirring because she was in the room with another, more dangerous animal.

Back in the other room, Hermione had seen how he had kept his eyes from her, letting her keep some modesty about her. So, what then was the night before about? He had accosted her and _torn_ those trousers from her body and yet tonight…

Hermione didn’t understand him, didn’t understand herself and if Hermione Granger relied on one thing, it was understanding.   
  
Hermione understood many things. She could tell you the main ingredients in any NEWT level potion. She could remember all the Ancient Runes that her classes had ever covered. She could perform all the Defence Against the Dark Arts spells they had covered at OWL level now, due in a large part to Harry who helped her with the Patronus Charm.

But when it came to understanding that man, the Snatcher, she had nothing.  
  
That wild man was the enemy… so why then had he saved her? Why had he saved her, but then refused to let her go? Why did he force her into a corner a few nights ago, made her do what he had and yet brought her somewhere safe from the Death Eaters? Nothing about him made sense. Nothing about the whole disturbing situation made sense. Why was she there? Because he had made it clear that night what it was he had wanted, and yet he hadn’t enforced his deal, not all the way. Did he think that she owed him a debt that he could call on repayment for at any time? He had tried to make her obedient, punishing her by refusing her food and yet left food out for her that morning.  
  
No. She had no understanding of this and perhaps that was better. Because when she had seen him looking so uncomfortable and tired as he stood in front of that tub, avoiding her gaze, she had sympathized with him… and that was more than dangerous.

 

  
A/N: Please let me know what you think?

 


	17. Dreams and Beds

New A/N: Hey. So sorry for the delay in updates. I’m in a lot of pain from my visit to the hospital. I hope you’re still enjoying this.

  
Original A/N: Hey all! Here's the other chapter I promised you all. I must admit, I’ve been a little worried about this fic because every reader wants something different. I hate that I can't please everyone but I am going to stick to my original plot, if that means I loose readers I am sorry :( I don't want to but I simply can't please everyone :( To those who do like it, please give me your support. I work very hard on each of these chapters despite a lot of stuff going on in the meantime. Anyway, I do hope you like this chapter and I hope to hear from you soon. Much love, B x 

 

  
**Chapter Seventeen**

  
**Dreams and Beds**

 

It was getting dangerous.  
  
Scabior was lying back in the bath, his head in his hand, sighing. She was going to drive him insane.

It had taken Scabior much longer to find his voice than it should have, sitting on the other side of that sheet, waiting for her to move. Waiting for her to break the spell he so often found himself under when it came to her. He had been glued to that chair, staring at her silhouette, and he didn’t know how, but he knew that she was staring back, standing, unmoving.  
  
When was the last time he had lusted over a woman this much? He couldn’t remember a time when he had lusted and not had satisfaction almost immediately. The woman had always crumbled around him, flattered by his roguish charm and attention. They always submitted and much sooner than any of this. No woman had ever refused him, except for her. Was that why her very presence was taunting him so much?  
  
Sighing, he sank down into the bath, washing his ragged, tangled hair. He would just have to try and ignore her, try and remind himself of what she was. A Mudblood and a _wanted_ Mudblood at that. But that word didn’t hold as much disgust in his heart as it should. He had never felt as much hatred towards them as the Malfoys did, as the other Death Eaters did.

Was that because of his past? Because he was weak? Maybe. And that simply wouldn’t do. He couldn’t afford to be weak, not during this war. Weakness would lead to death and he would not allow that. He prioritised survival at all costs. That was the way he lived his entire life. He bartered men’s lives away and he knew what that made him, he knew what he was, but it kept him alive, so it made it okay.  
  
But her… How was he going to turn her over?  
  
Would he wait a few weeks and then hand her over to a private client? He couldn’t yet, not until Malfoy’s fascination with her died down, else whoever he sold her to would hand her in, along with Scabior’s name. No. He’d have to wait, keep her safe for now, but then hand her over.  
  
He’d have to wait.

Hermione was trying to steady her beating heart, scolding herself for how it beat that little bit faster when she was around him.

He was a disgrace, she reminded herself, a disgrace to wizard kind… and yet…  
  
Hermione couldn’t put her finger on it, but when she was watching him chop that wood, when he had walked around the sheet, there had been such sadness and regret in his eyes. Why was he sad? Was he truly regretting his actions? If so, then why did he do it? Why did he take all these wizard’s lives away?

With a terrible stabbing pain, she realised why that look in his eyes had been so familiar to her. That look in his eyes was hauntingly like the shadow that had been cast over Draco Malfoy’s eyes the year before. That sadness, fear, regret and above all he had looked so trapped and completely and utterly at a loss on how to free himself. Was this Snatcher in a similar position? Was he doing this because he saw no other way out? Perhaps she could persuade him, convince him that this was not the case? Maybe.

The Snatcher was an enigma to her. His mood was constantly changing, he made things so much harder than they had to be, and yet he had declared that he let the women go free. But it wasn’t free was it? Not when the price was sex. She supposed that some women would barter such a thing as sex for their freedom, probably easily. She was not one of those women though and she still didn’t like it, didn’t have to like him. She still hated him, still thought it was all repulsive, but she could admit that at least he gave them a chance.  
  
Unlike Greyback.

So, she was stuck in the small water closet, her back still pressed against the door, now clothed in the vest and large cream top and she had wrapped her jumper around her waist, trying to cover as much as she could with it whilst she still did not have her jeans. She was cold and shivering but was avoiding that room, and him.  
  
Suddenly she heard a loud clanging noise and found that her hand had automatically found the door handle. The door flew open, and her hand went for her wand before she remembered that she didn’t have it. Her heart pounded as she peered around the door. But the room looked much the same as it had when she had left it, only the metal bath was absent. Nothing had happened.

When Hermione’s eyes travelled across the Snatcher’s shirtless form for a second before she really realised what she was looking at. He was waving his wand at the metal tub that was floating back into the storage cupboard, she closed her eyes, clapping one hand over them.  
  
“S-sorry!” Hermione stammered, flustered as she moved straight back into the bathroom, trying to close the door behind her.

“S’okay, yer can come out now.” The Snatcher’s voice called after her, and she paused, the door almost shut. The warmth from the fire reached her, calling her, tempting her. She just wanted to go and sit in front of it, pretend she was in Gryffindor tower. Pretend she was home.  
  
Scabior watched as she exited the wash closet again, a hand still shielding her eyes, he couldn’t help but chuckle at that.

“I _am_ decent love.” Scabior laughed, rubbing his hair with a towel, his shoulders aching. His jogging bottoms hung low on his hips, but she would just have to live with that.

Perhaps he would take the day off tomorrow. They never kept a trace of him; they just presumed that he would be out, _snatching_. Because that’s what he had been born and bred to do- to steal. But now he was stealing lives, and this little chit kept reminding him of it. She acted so seemingly innocent, and he both wanted and hated that. It was all too guilt-ridden and desperate. He wanted to ruin her… in so many ways.  
  
Scabior looked over and saw that she had settled herself down on the floor in front of the fire, warming her hands. She was shivering a little and he noticed the gooseflesh on her arms from where she’d waited in the cold bathroom. He brushed his fingers through the mass of wet, tangled hair on his head.

Scabior glanced down at the young woman warming herself by the fire again. He was aching too much to return to sitting in the hardbacked wooden chair. He walked slowly round to the front of the sofa, so as not to frighten her with any sudden movement. She was like a doe in that way. He noticed her form stiffen but he took a seat and after a few minutes where neither of them moved again, she relaxed little.  
  
Scabior sat; watching her, watch the fire.  
  
Long, wet hair was piled under the towel that she wore wrapped around her head. The back of his cream shirt was wet, turning it see-through… taunting. She sat with her legs curled round to the side of her. Her skin looked soft and creamy and Merlin, what he’d give to run his tongue along the length of them. He eyes traced the long, curve of her neck, wanting to trace along it with his lips. Her jumper was tied around her waist, giving her more material to hide behind but showed her hourglass figure. How her waist went in before the curve of her hips…

_Merlin… Did she just exist to taunt him?_  


Hermione had been beginning to relax, comforted by the warmth of the fire and the power of her imagination. When she closed her eyes, breathed in the smell of the burning logs and felt the warmth kiss her skin, she could almost envision it- the Gryffindor common room. She was just sinking further into her fantasy when she heard the Snatcher move behind her. She stiffed, but turned around too late.

Large hands were suddenly at her waist and her feet had all too suddenly left the floor. In one smooth movement he had sat back down on the sofa, with her on top of him. _  
_  
Scabior couldn’t help it anymore. He couldn’t hold back. He just wanted to feel her. To feel her skin on his. He had zero self-control around her, and he knew it was a problem but didn’t, couldn’t find it in himself to care. In one smooth movement he had lifted her from the floor, before sitting back down in his seat, her astride him. __  
  
Hermione froze.  
  
When she realised what had just happened, she was on her knees,  her legs on either side of him, and he was holding her, her arms on his shoulders, about to push away, when he had buried his head against her chest. She was sure that she had let out a little whimper, but she didn’t move. Couldn’t move. He just held himself there, his hands wrapping around her waist his long fingers on her lower back.

Hermione couldn’t move, didn’t dare, and not just because of him. For some unfathomable reason she couldn’t move, to the point she wondered if she had been frozen in place with a paralyzing charm. Then she realised the ferocity of which her chest was rising and falling. Felt her fingers press further into his shoulders. This wasn’t a paralyzing charm and it suddenly occurred to her that, with his head at her chest, he had to be able to hear the quickened beating of her heart.

The towel that had been wrapped around Hermione’s hair fell away from her hair, the wet riotous curls falling loose as the towel fell to the empty space beside them, but that was the only movement between the two of them. His wet hair dripped onto her arms and chest, but she didn’t care. All she could do was look down at him, as he held her, desperately. His fingers gripped her firmly, almost hard. His breathing was heavy, and his shoulders were tense, but he wasn’t moving.  
  
_This has to be enough._

Scabior told himself. He was suffocating in her scent, felt her nervous hands upon his shoulders. Her skin on his, and it had to be enough. He didn’t trust himself to be able to move and not try to take what he wanted. Coax her, tempt her, coerce and corrupt.  In that one moment of weakness he had snatched her up, because that was what he did. He took things. But now he had her there, almost straddling his lap and now he didn’t trust himself.  
  
The young woman let out a second whimper, sounding a little more distressed. Scabior kept his eyes closed tight and listened. He could barely hear the beating of her heart over his own, but sure enough, it was there, beating just as fast as his. He felt her hands settle on his shoulders, felt her back tense beneath his fingers.

“Don’t move.” Scabior warned her. Because he knew what she was about to do but didn’t trust himself. If she fought against him, it would be all too easy for him to pin her beneath him and that was too tantalising a thought to think about. “Just… Just don’t move.”

Hermione quivered slightly at the sound of his voice. It sounded desperate and rough, almost like he was pleading her. She looked down at the top of his head, followed the red streak that trailed down the middle of his brown hair. She was given no clue as to what was happening or what she should do. Her chest was wet, her arms were too, but she could feel that he was almost shaking. She was sure then that he could feel that tingle between them, had felt it the second his hands had found her waist. His heavy breathing tickled her, warming her chest in a way that heat alone could never do, but she tried to ignore it.

All she could do was look down at the top of his wet head, the red streak running through it. She could feel the tight, sinewy muscles beneath his skin on his shoulders. Could feel how tight they were. Could feel how surprisingly smooth his skin was.  
  
Hermione had no clue. No clue about this man. She didn’t understand him. Was he crying? She couldn’t tell, because her chest was wet from his hair. So then why was he just holding her there? But that little argument was quieter this time, and she ended up ignoring it. She could feel his breath on her wet skin. Could feel the tense shoulders beneath his fingers and he had sounded so desperate.

He didn’t trust himself to move. Both wanted and didn’t want, more than anything, to ruin her. To corrupt her. To make her his. Now he was right there, engulfed in her scent, so close and still so far away. But he didn’t trust himself. If she moved, if she struggled, it would be all too easy to taunt her, to toy with her. Something he did well. As a result, Scabior held himself there, head pressed into her chest, the wet shirt clinging to her breasts. He kept his head down, tried to reign in control of himself. Could see those soft, creamy legs either side of his when he looked down.

Salazar, it was mouth-watering. It was like a primal, feral beast was waking up inside him once again, and it was ready and waiting to pounce.

Scabior both wanted and needed her to move. Didn’t want to and did want to do what he knew he would if she dared to move.  
  
Ruination was only a breath away.  
  
Desperate. Scabior was desperate, but out of everything he could have imagined in that moment, he didn’t expect the movement she did make. He started suddenly when he felt a hesitant hand move from his shoulder, before slowly, brushing down his head, into his hair.  
  
What in Godric’s name was she doing? Was she trying to soothe him? To comfort him?

Neither of them had any idea of what them or the other was doing. No clue.

But Hermione kept on doing it, brushing her hand gently through his hair, feeling the shoulder her hand was pressed to, beginning to relax.

“Are you…” The woman’s small voice whispered tentatively, a while later. It surprised even himself that it had calmed him down and settled the beast within him. Scabior somehow knew she was going to ask if he was okay and couldn’t bear to hear it. Not from her.

“Just let me hold you…” Scabior began, his voice sounding unlike his own. “Just for a while.  
  
Hermione surprised herself by letting him; she even shuffled her knees slightly to get more comfortable. Why she was doing it, she had no idea? Not a frigging clue. But she was doing it all the same.

Scabior almost laughed out loud. This Granger woman had no idea how close he had come, how much this act of sympathy had saved her. Was this some of that famous bleeding- Gryffindor-heart sympathy he had heard so much about? He was a monster, wasn’t he? So why was she showing _any_ care towards him? Especially after the way he treated her.

Innocence maybe? Naivety perhaps? But she wasn’t naive. She was clever, so she knew the way the world worked, the way _he_ worked. She had nothing to gain from it. So why was she being kind in any way to him?

_Self-preservation._

That voice in the back of his head reminded him. Because that’s exactly how he worked.

Time ticked by silently and Hermione even felt comfortable enough to lean forward and let her chin rest on his shoulder. She stroked her fingers through his hair in silence, just repeating the action, her mind blank.

Why should she try and make sense of it?  
  
Just as she was beginning to drift off to sleep, her head nodding, he suddenly moved, making her start. His hands at her waist lifted her from him as she stood up and before she knew it, she was back on her feet again. She looked up at him, dumbfounded, looking up in question at him. His eyes didn’t meet hers and he merely turned his back to her as he began to talk, moving her towel from the sofa onto the floor.

“If you’re hungry, heat up what we had last night, if not go to bed.” The Snatcher’s smooth voice was blank, betraying no emotion. By the time Hermione had blinked dumbly back at him he had lain down on the sofa, his eyes closed, and an arm draped over them.  
  
“O-okay.” Hermione said, shifting on the spot for the second before walking quietly over to the kitchen. It didn’t take her long to reheat some of the food, she knew he was still awake, but he said nothing, even when she asked if he wanted any.

_Fine_.

Hermione had no reason to be nice to him anyway. Why she had shown him any semblance of kindness was beyond her. So, she sat on the bed, where the blanket and sheet lay wrapped around her and ate her food, trying to work out the enigma that was her Snatcher.

After eating she washed the bowl and spoon as quietly as she could, eager not to cause an argument, although she was pretty sure that he wasn’t yet asleep. She was sure that he was ignoring him just as badly as she was trying to ignore him, and yet she was acutely aware of his presence.

Hermione climbed into the bed, shivering. She glanced over at the fire. Yes, it was blazing away still, but being further away from the fire and with a damp shirt didn’t exactly help. She peeled off the damp shirt quickly, pulling the jumper on over her head. She wrapped the sheet and blanket round her and began to drift off to sleep.

 

“You’re worthless! You’re a worthless piece of shit! I don’t care if you’re a Pureblood, you are not his son!”

Scabior was staring up at the older boy, watching as he shouted down at him. He was clutching a broken nose, curled up on the ground but the older boy didn’t care, his fist collided with Scabior’s face again. Scabior curled up further at the assault, pain blossoming across his gut.

  
“You’re not a part of this family! Your mum’s a whore!” Suddenly Scabior was fighting back, seeing red in his fury. Could feel the pain in his shoulders as he threw punches and received them in return. Arms were reaching out for him, grabbing at him, pulling him away from the older, bigger boy. Scabior wanted to pull away, to hit out at the older boy, but he was too small in those large adult hands.

Scabior felt himself suddenly being torn from the boy he was beating, receiving a hard blow over the ear from the newcomer, inviting more hatred from Scabior at the man who had pulled him away, was hitting him.  
  
“You do not beat the young master! Do you understand? Now go and get on with your chores!”  
  
It was always like that, and Scabior always ended up bloody and beaten. The words _worthless_ and _scum_ were something he was used to now, but if anyone began to insult his mother, he couldn’t control the fury within him.

Someone was shrieking at him again. The voice of a woman this time. Oh how he hated that voice.

“I don’t give a damn about your bloodline. Do you think being a Pureblood matters? Do you? Well if you’re not a part of _my_ bloodline then _you_ don’t matter. We took you in here. We gave you a name and a place to stay, so I want to see some respect from you! Do you think that you will get anywhere in life without our name, without our lineage? Well I can take it away just… like… that!”

Scabior’s ears pricked as he heard a creaking sound and started suddenly, waking in the darkness, his wand already pointed.  
  
“Lumos.” Scabior breathed, still half inside his dream. The scared face of the Granger woman blinked back at him and it took him a moment to realize that he should really lower his wand.

“Fuck.” Scabior swore to himself as he lowered his wand and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “What the fuck are yer doin’ Mudblood?” He questioned, the word reminding him of his dream again. Unsure why he even used it in the first place. “You’re lucky I didn’t hex yer on the spot!”

“I-I know, I’m sorry, I…” Hermione began to mutter, put off completely from where he had pointed that wand in her face.

“I told you not to try and escape.” The Snatcher got to his feet, annoyance in his voice as he rubbed one of his arms from the cold.

“I-I wasn’t!” The Granger woman exclaimed as Scabior frowned, looking around. The fire was still burning but it was cold now he was awake. He glanced at the window to see that, sure enough, there was a blizzard raging outside.  
  
“I swear!” Hermione added hurriedly, for the last thing she wanted was another fight. “It was cold and I… I wondered if you had anymore bedding in there.” Hermione pointed at the cupboard she was standing next to.

Scabior rubbed his face again, exhausted but almost relieved. He was too tired to lecture the little chit.  
  
“Come on.” Scabior motioned for her to go back to the bed, could see that she was wrapped in the bed sheet he had used to hide her from his view whilst she bathed.

Hermione shuffled out of the way, thinking that he was about to get her another sheet from the storage cupboard, but he followed on behind her as she moved to the bed. He pulled the corner of the blanket back for her and she looked up, confused. When he made no further movement, she climbed onto the bed and watched as he let the blanket fall back over her.  She guessed that maybe he wasn’t going to do anything to warm her up but her eyes suddenly widened when he moved to climb in on the other side of the bed.

“Wha-What are you doing?!” Hermione exclaimed in alarm, jumping out of the bed.

“Got no other bedding… yer wanna get warm?” He asked her and she nodded, pressed against the wall. “Then we’d better share the bed.” The Snatcher explained in reply.

“No!” Hermione exclaimed, positively horrified at the idea.

“No funny business, okay!” The Snatcher put up his hands defensively. “But unless yer wanna freeze, this is the best way. Got no more sheets for yer princess, so just get in the bed.” He spoke like the matter was closed and he sounded tired, like he didn’t want to fight.  
  
Hermione stood by the bed hesitantly, weighing up her options. But she didn’t really have any and the more she stood there, the more she felt the cold.

“O-okay.” She barely breathed the word, completely disbelieving that she was doing it, but she silently climbed into the bed beside him, scooting as far away as possible from him. She heard him laugh at her but ignored him, as she kept trying to do, but with him less than a foot away now, it was harder than ever.

The light from Scabior’s wand went out and the two of them were plunged into darkness again. He glanced over at her as she lay there, body stiff as she frowned at the ceiling for a moment, before rolling over, turning her back to him. He chuckled quietly at her as she lay with her back to him on the far side of the bed. “If yer ent careful love, you’re gonna fall out of bed,” he warned her, but she ignored him as he guessed she would.

Scabior settled down, pulling the blanket over him, leaving her with the thin bedsheet wrapped around her. Before long he was dozing lightly, knowing that she wasn’t yet asleep. It surprised him how relaxed and comfortable he felt. How easy it was for him to begin to nod off.

It must have taken the Granger woman a while to drift off to sleep, because it was hours later that she finally moved, his senses picking up on the movement and waking him from his slumber. Scabior looked over and saw that she was sound asleep as she rolled closer to him. He smirked to himself. He knew that she was asleep and that her body was merely seeking the warmth that his body provided but he couldn’t help but smirk because it was _her_ that was moving closer to him, her cheek pressed against his arm.  
  
What must have been only half an hour later he was woken again. The Granger woman’s arm moved to lay across his chest. He felt how cold her fingers were against his chest, so he pulled the blanket up over her. He couldn’t help but look down at her. Innocence. That’s what he saw in her sleeping form. Innocence.  
  
Scabior sighed, moving his arm so that she could snuggle in closer, feeling how the beautiful young woman was getting warmer every minute she was pressed against his skin. Her cold toes found his legs, her fingers warming on his chest. Her cold cheek found his chest as he wrapped his arm around her, warming her.

Scabior would have chuckled at her again, but he was too tired, and oddly comfortable. He felt something too close to contentment. When he drifted off to sleep again, the Granger woman’s head was on his chest, her arm wrapped around his torso, and her knee on top of his leg. For once he fell asleep with a smile on his face. 

 

 

  
A/N: Please let me know what you think? :S (From a worried writer) 

 


	18. Morning Has Broken

 

New A/N: Still recovering from the hospital trip. I hope you enjoy this update

  
Original A/N: Because you were all so lovely and left reviews about the previous chapter, placating my worries, I decided you deserved another update! >_<  
Email: Gryffindorgirl2010@hotmail.co.uk  
Tumblr: <http://gryffindorgirl7777.tumblr.com/>

 

 

  
**Chapter Eighteen**

  
**Morning Has Broken**

 

Scabior was dozing. He was pleasantly, barely aware of anything and yet abundantly aware of the heat of the young woman’s body pressed against his. He lay there, letting the last of his sleep drag on, his arm still wrapped around the girl’s shoulders, holding her snugly to him. Her right leg was draped over his left and her arm was still resting on his bare torso, the blanket still draped over them both.  


Scabior could feel the odd flicker of her long eyelashes against his chest, a sensation that he found odd and yet liked. It was rare for him to spend a full night wrapped against a woman. Usually they both got what they wanted and then one of them would leave or they would sleep without the need to snuggle. It was something he had never really approved of. He didn’t like clingy women, but with the young woman currently pressed against him, he was willing to make an exception.  
  
Scabior let his sleep drift on, his body needing it after Lestrange’s assault on him the day before. He was aware of some slight movement coming from the girl but ignored it, willing her silently to stay asleep a little longer as she froze.   
  
Then there came a loud shrieking scream.

First Hermione was aware that she had been sleeping soundly. Then she was aware of how warm and comfortable she was. She considered waking but decided against it, snuggling closer to the source of heat.

She stilled.

The source of heat didn’t feel like a pillow. Sometimes she hugged pillows, thoughts of Ron running through her head before she fell asleep. But this pillow seemed to be hugging her back. That’s when her sleep-addled brain realised; it was most definitely _not_ a pillow.  
  
Where was she?

Then she remembered. Remembered and realized and panicked.  
  
Unwittingly a loud scream escaped her mouth as her heart pounded at the realization that she was draped across the bare-chested Snatcher. He had his arm wrapped around her, and suddenly it was pulling her closer to him as she tried to scramble away. Her heart was pounding, and she was panicking but he was stronger than her and with just his one arm wrapped around her, he was able to pull her back, pressing her against his chest.

The Granger woman’s dainty fingers were pressed against his bare skin, and oh how he wanted those fingers to stroke him, to caress and explore his body. He ignored that thought, pulling her back against him as her hands pressed against him, trying to force herself back and away from him.

“Let go!” The Granger woman cried as she struggled against his hold, but he held her against him stubbornly. “You said no funny business!”

Her cry made him laugh then, and she stilled at the sound of it.

“It was yer who cuddled up t’ me love. Not that I’m complainin’, but don’t make me out to be some monster. You’re the one who wrapped your arm over me.” He said, watching her cheeks redden, as she blushed, still frowning up at him before she turned her head to look away.  
  
“Let me go.”  
  
Hermione could only mutter in her embarrassment. It was true that when she had woken, her arm had been draped over him, and her leg. Merlin, she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole.  
  
“Not yet…” The Snatcher began; she looked up at him from where she was pressed to his torso. “I believe you owe me an apology.”

Hermione looked up at him in confusion but suddenly both of his hands were on her upper arms, gripping them as she was flipped onto her back, and just as suddenly he was above her. His hands held her upper arms, his knees pressed into the bed on either side of her thighs, his lower legs trapping her calves in place. All the breath in her lungs abruptly left her as she stared back up at him.

Scabior sneered down at the Granger woman as he flipped her, watching her eyes widen. Her hair was spread out against the pillow, her curls riotous as always. Her deep brown eyes were staring up, fear and anger and something else inside them.

“Well?” The Snatcher began, keeping her pressed to the bed. At first all she could do was stare, her heart in her throat as she felt his body heat from above her. Then she found herself again, mentally shaking herself before her hands reached up, pressing against his bare chest, trying to shove him away.

The Snatcher laughed again, his smooth voice shattering her resolve.   
  
“Well what?” Hermione bit out as she tried to struggle against him, trying to push him off and away from her, but her attempts did nothing. He leant closer, despite her pushing against him.

“Apologise.”

One word, a smirk on his face as he hovered close to her face and she hated herself, hated him, but hated herself more, because her eyes fell to his lips, and her body was tingling again, expecting, waiting…

“No.” Hermione finally breathed, looking back up, into those cold, piercing eyes. Ice, cold bluey-grey skies shone back down at her, and she could see that predatory glint in them.

“I’m startin’ to get the impression that yer like my punishments.” Scabior sneered down at her, before swooping down closer, making her start slightly before he stopped, his lips moments from hers.

Scabior glanced up, saw that sure enough her eyes had closed tightly, expecting…  
  
Scabior sniggered then, before letting out a chuckle. He was enjoying this game. He watched as she opened her eyes slowly, looking back up at him, still hating. Those flames were blazing, just for him. He was the one that was sparking that fire inside her. Her anger was too delicious, he just couldn’t help himself.

“Well? Is that the case my little Mudblood?”

Hermione turned her head, trying to ignore the tingling of her body. It was a mixture of fear and anticipation, she told herself. Just shock and expectancy. Nothing more.

The smell of evergreens and earth was suffocating her, that scent that only belonged to him. Her hands were still on his chest, a firm, toned chest that, despite her efforts, wouldn’t move away from her. Merlin that smell, and that look in his eyes. It sparked something inside her other than fear, something she didn’t understand and didn’t want.  
  
“Hmm?” Scabior continued, saw that she was trying to ignore him. “Do yer like it when I punish yer?” He breathed into her neck, so close to the pulse point. He felt her shiver. “Do yer like it when I push you down?” He couldn’t help himself; this game was far too dangerous to play. His lips were on her neck in seconds, he was sucking at that pulse point, felt her shiver again. Felt her body tense up.

The Snatcher kissed along her neck, his lips caressing her skin like a soft velvet. She held on tightly to her breath, able to swallow the gasp she almost let out at the connection of his lips and her skin. He felt his breath against her ear.

“You like my punishments don’t yer…”

Hermione quivered again, hating. Hating him and herself and everything about the situation. Because it was wrong. He was wrong for doing it, and she was wrong for liking it.  
  
She couldn’t deny it. Despite everything. Despite what he forced her to do, her body liked the way he caressed it. She knew the physiology of it, she understood why. Her body was reacting to his touch, no matter what her mind said. No matter how much she didn’t want to react. It was the psychology of it that she struggled with. That was what confused her. Because her resolve was beginning to slip, just ever so slightly, but it was enough. She knew all about Stockholm Syndrome. She understood that. Perhaps that’s what this was?

But then, this had started long before he had taken her.

Hermione’s body was betraying her as he hovered above her, warm lips a breath away from her skin. She closed her eyes, keeping her head turned away from him. Unsure if it was more to look away from him or invite that torturous attention of his lips along her neck.

“Stop.” Hermione’s voice was too small, too weak for her liking.

“Apologise ‘n’ I will.” Scabior sneered into her skin, before letting go of her upper arms and grabbing her wrists suddenly. A small sound escaped her lips as he pushed her arms above her head.  
  
“Apologise for what?” Hermione cried out, her heart pounding faster as she tried to struggle against him.

Scabior had large hands. It was easy for him to hold both of her wrists in one hand. He put all his weight into that arm, both holding her and keeping himself upright. His other hand was free to do as he pleased.

“For inferrin’ that I am anythin’ but a gentleman.” The Snatcher mocked and she glowered back up at him, gritting her teeth together.

“You are _no_ gentleman.” Hermione bit out, still trying to wriggle free from his hold on her.

“So, yer won’t say sorry?” Scabior smirked down at her. He shrugged lightly then, his smile widening before he lowered his lips to her chest. “You’ll have t’ be punished then.”

Scabior breathed the words against her chest, his lips pressing against her skin, travelling as low as the neck of her jumper would allow. Merlin, he loved playing with her. Loved seeing how stubborn she could be, how those flames danced in her eyes whenever he teased and taunted her.  
  
“Stop…” Hermione began again, her words breathy, because his free hand was pushing up her jumper, reaching up beneath it. His hand made its way up, beneath the vest she wore beneath it. His rough fingers stroked her skin reaching higher as she struggled. “Stop!” She cried again, a little stronger this time, because his hand was moving higher and his fingers were beginning to stroke her breast.

Scabior kissed down her neck again and his fingers brushed against the warm, smooth skin of her stomach, travelling higher. He kissed across her collarbone and down as far as he could before he was hindered. The woollen jumper was in the way.

“Please… stop.” She cried out this time because his fingers were torturing her. The way they caressed and stroked her skin, made it hard for her to ignore. She felt that tingle in her body building and hated herself for it.

  
“No.”

The Snatcher looked up at her for a moment before suddenly his lips were on hers. She went to cry out, struggled beneath him but his tongue stilled her cries. As his fingers stroked up her side and across the underside of her breast, she let out a few gasping breaths, noises that were swallowed by his mouth.

The way he kissed her was punishing, just as he intended. She felt that electricity between them crackling, her skin tingling from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Godric help her. She wanted to cry. Wanted to be anywhere but there. And above all, she didn’t want that sensation that had sparked within her body. The one that said she enjoyed his kiss, his touch and that she wanted even more.

Scabior couldn’t help himself. He hadn’t meant to push it that far, but she had refused to apologise and so needed punishing. Heaven help him he wanted to punish her. At the back of his head somewhere was the awareness that his game was getting more and more dangerous. Because those sounds she was breathing against his lips. They were making him want her more.

Finally, the Snatcher’s lips withdrew from Hermione’s. She inhaled deeply, trying to still her spinning head. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. His lips were on her neck again, and his other hand was cupping her breast. Suddenly his thumb flicked across her nipple at the same time as he bit down on her neck.  
  
She couldn’t help it. Wished she could, but her back arched as she cried out, emitting a small noise in a mix of pleasure and pain.

Scabior stilled. He was enchanted. The Granger woman’s eyes were closed; her back arched slightly as she let out a small moan, half gasp, half cry and he had to swallow… had to stop. Her eyes flashed open once again, wide and horrified. He saw it; saw how enraged and horrified she was with herself before she tilted her head away from him again.

“What was that?” Scabior teased her, removing his hand from beneath her jumper. Her wild hair was hiding her eyes, all he could see was the bright blush on her cheeks. He held her chin, forcing her to look up at him. Her stubborn glare was blazing, piercing his skull, starring daggers at him.

“Well?” He prompted.

“Well what?” Hermione snapped back at him, wanting anytime now to disappear.

“Yer _do_ like it when I punish yer, don’t yer?” He taunted her, his fingers stroking down her face.

Having had enough Hermione glare defiantly back at him.

“My body may respond but I hate you! I hate you so much that if I had my wand, you’d be the sorriest wizard on the face of the earth!” Hermione should have stopped there but she couldn’t stop the flood of hate. “I hate you! Hate you for what you did! What you’ve done! For what you’re doing!”

And for what you make me feel.  
  
“I will never, _ever_ forgive you for what you did to me! No matter how kind you are, or how much you try to coerce me! I only hate you! So, it doesn’t matter if my body responds to your touch! You’ll do as you wish anyway right?”

The Snatcher’s only response was to stare back as she continued.

“Be cruel or be kind! But pick one!”  
  
_Because I can’t keep up with you. I can’t keep up with this pace and I still can’t breathe. My head’s still spinning from your kiss._

Scabior stared blankly down at her, blinked once or twice before he began to laugh.

  
This woman was the most stubborn chit he had _ever_ met and the only one to go up against him. But she hadn’t won yet.

“Okay then.” Scabior exclaimed with a dark grin.

Suddenly one of the Snatcher’s legs had moved and was pressing against hers, trying to prise her legs apart. Hermione clamped her legs together tightly, closing her eyes as she struggled against him.

Despite her struggling, it was easy for him to prise her legs apart with his. One of his knees prised her legs apart before his other knee shoved her other leg aside. He leant forward slightly, felt the heat coming off her body. Whether it was just from her anger, he didn’t know.

“Stop it!” She shrieked at him.

“Yer the one that said that I’d do as I wish…” Scabior began, trying to make some sort of point, or some sort of twisted joke. In all honesty, he wasn’t really sure what the hell he was doing.

“Get- off- of- me!” The young woman bit out at him, still endlessly fighting against him.

“Apologise.” Scabior’s voice was a little gravelly as he fought to hold her in place. One word still. All she had to say was sorry and he’d stop.

“No!”

Scabior didn’t expect that.  
  
“You _are_ a monster and this only proves it!” The woman cried out, her eyes beginning to water.  
  
He stilled.

_Fuck_

Scabior frowned down at her. Had no words for a moment, before he let go of her wrists with a violent shove against the bed before he pressed his hand against the bed beside her head, hovering there for a moment.

“We’ve already established that I won’t force an unwillin’ victim.” He said, in all seriousness.

“But you did!” Tears were threatening to fall as Hermione shouted back at him, trying to keep her voice from breaking. “You _did_ force me!”

Scabior was frowning down at her.

_Fucking little chit._

“Was it not a small price t’ pay, for your freedom?” Scabior growled down at her, angry with himself for that pure and utter fuck up the other night.

“I wish I’d chosen Malfoy.”

The young woman’s voice was small and breathy, as her teary eyes looked up at him, piercing his own glare. And those words, they hit like a punch to the gut. Worse in fact. Worse than Lestrange’s curses the day before.

Scabior sneered at her, before pushing himself up and off of her.

Fucking ungrateful little Mudblood. After everything he had done to keep her safe, and she was telling him she made the wrong choice. Well then maybe he did too. Maybe he should just hand the little bitch over to him?

But then Lucius would know. That woman would tell Malfoy that he took her. Fuck.

Scabior pulled out his wand from the waist band of his jogging bottoms, saw her flinch and then her eyes widened fearfully as he pointed the wand at her. She had frozen completely, still lying there as he knelt on the bed beside her.

He could obliviate her memories; make her forget that he had taken her.  
  
_Fuck._

Hermione knew that she’d really done it now. She’d pushed too far. She tried to move, but her body wouldn’t obey. She was frozen completely as she lay above the bed, her chest heaving as her heart beat rapidly against her chest.  She couldn’t move, so she stayed still, waiting.

The Snatcher swooped in close to her, one arm reaching across her to trap her in place. She went to scramble away, her body finally free from its fear-binding curse, but she stilled again as he pressed his wand to her head.

“Perhaps I should just obliviate yer.” The Snatcher muttered, his voice sounding darker than usual. “Obliviate yer ‘n’ then return yer to Malfoy Manor.” Hermione closed her eyes, a tear rolling down her cheek. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Her body felt numb, all except from that one point at her temple, where his wand was pressed against her skin.

“What do yer think Princess? Do yer reckon they’ll treat yer like royalty? The Gryffindor Princess, top of her class and best friend of Harry Potter… the _Mudblood._ ”

_Why had she said those things? Why had she angered him? She couldn’t think straight around him. He made her feel things that were unwelcome. Even so, she knew that he was better than Malfoy. Better than the rumours she’d heard about him. Despite the other night, the Snatcher had treated her with relative kindness. She was a fucking idiot._

“I could take away your memory of that night…” Scabior began, not knowing why or where he was going with it, but his mouth ran off without his head. “That would be a kindness surely?”

_Please Merlin, don’t let him do it._  
  
Because if there was one thing she was frightened of about magic, that was it- the ability to mess with someone’s head. To take away their memories, to modify them… Like she’d had to for her parents.

“I could make yer forget how cruel I was…” His voice was low, dark, as he pressed his wand against her temple. “Would yer think more of me then? Do you think the idea of me bein’ a monster would just melt away?”

Finally, Hermione found her voice, her words salted from her tears.  
  
“I think you’ve messed with my head enough.”

Scabior looked down at her intently but she gave nothing away but fear and anger.

_What did that mean?_  
  
Slowly Scabior lowered his wand, his face blank but his eyes staring at hers the whole time.

_What had she meant by that?_

But Scabior slipped his wand back into the waistband of his jogging bottoms, finally taking his eyes from hers. He pushed himself up and walked away from the bed and away from her.

Hermione stayed there, frozen, huddled against the headboard of the bed. The only movement she made was to jump as the door to the bathroom slammed shut behind him. It was only then that she started sobbing, audibly.   
  
She had to get out of there.  
  
                                      *                        *                              *                        *

 

Scabior wanted to hit something.

Standing in the small bathroom Scabior leant against the sink, looking up at the cracked mirror. Scabior was angry with the bitch that would rather be with a monster like Malfoy than with him. She was right though. He had forced her the other night. Perhaps it was true, no matter how kind he tried to be to her, she would never forgive him.

But then, what had she meant when she said he’d messed with her head? What did that mean? Was it just fear? Or was there something else there? Because he hadn’t missed how she had shivered deliciously beneath him, or how her back had arched up into his touch.  
  
So what did that mean?

_Prude _little bitch.__

Scabior was beginning to feel that taking her from the manor had been a waste of time.

After washing he slammed the bathroom door again when he returned to the main room of the cabin. He looked over at the girl; saw she was curled up in the bed, her back to him. It looked like she was shaking, maybe crying?

Well what did he care? He was just a monster, right?

Stripping, uncaring if she saw anything or not, Scabior pulled on a clean pair of boxers. Usually if he was camped out, he wouldn’t wear them. He pulled on a pair of jeans, ripped and stained but he didn’t care, all his trousers were like that. Yanking on a black shirt and then his waistcoat, he glanced up at the harpy sitting on the bed. He’d forget the idea of a day off after all. Now that he was this mad, he really felt the need to kick the shit out of someone. He’d meet with his Snatching group, find some wandering Mudblood idiot and take it out on them.

Or maybe, he’d find that redheaded fool that she liked, he thought darkly and bitterly. The one she apparently wanted. He would gladly kick the holy crap out of him.

With a backwards glance and a sneer at the girl, he exited the hut, slamming the door behind him.

Hermione started as the door slammed once more. Then the sobs came again. She hated this. She hated that all she could do was cry. It all felt far too helpless. She just _had_ to find a way out of there, because she was worried about what he was turning her into. Since he had left that bed, she had felt the loss of his heat. She had an ache in her abdomen and lower down, a tingling feeling of need.

_Why did she feel this way? This couldn’t be normal could it? She had to be twisted… broken somehow. It couldn’t be normal for her to like the way that he controlled her,_ because no one else could. But here, with him, she was completely at his mercy, and instead of beating her or torturing her for information, he had kept her. Kept her safe from the others of his kind. _  
_  
Was she _wrong_ somehow? Was something wrong with her for liking how he made her body feel?  
  
No. No, it was just biology, physiology, right? It wasn’t wrong for her body to react, and she definitely still hated him… but the reason why was ever changing and currently she only hated him for what he made her feel. She didn’t want to feel that way around him… not after what he’d done. She wondered what would have happened that night, the night he pushed her to her knees. What would have happened if she’d kissed him back? Because she had been moments away from it. Just a breath away from letting him completely devour her.

Maybe she should just let him. If he got what he wanted, would he let her go? Maybe. Or maybe he’d pass her on, just as he planned. Hermione began to think things through.

_Be logical, be Hermione Granger._  
  
That voice in the back of her head reassured her.

_Yes. Think it through logically_.

A plan began to form. 

 

 

 

 

  
A/N: Ooooh, please let me know what you think >_< xxx

I'm tempted to list some of the songs that really inspired this fic. How would you guys feel about that? Or should I keep it to Tumblr? Also if anyone is good with photo manips etc and feels inspired I'd love to post any work you feel like doing for this fic. xxx


	19. Coersion

[ ](https://imgur.com/QLTV8K8)

New A/N: I decided to do another update for you all today as a special treat. I’m currently editing much quicker than my Beta-reader can keep up so please bear with me if there are any mistakes or typos. Also send her your support because she is doing amazing! Thank you so much Skye x

Original A/N: Okay, another chapter for you lovelies. As always thank you v. much for the support and the reviews, they tend to kick me up the arse and get me writing more. :P  
  
Hope you like it.  
  
Email: Gryffindorgirl2010@hotmail.co.uk  
Tumblr: http://gryffindorgirl7777.tumblr.com/

 

 

**Chapter Nineteen.**

  
  
** Coercion.**

 

_Fucking- ungrateful…_

Scabior’s thoughts were interrupted as he punched out at someone.

_…little- shit._

He hit the man again as he stumbled.

If she wanted a monster, then he could show her one.

The bloodied Mudblood man slammed into a tree, his nose and head pouring with blood. But Scabior hadn’t finished yet. He was too busy seeing red. He had suffered such injuries, had suffered the Malfoy’s wrath, and what for? Just to have a stubborn, annoying, disobeying chit in his cabin.

Scabior didn’t necessarily care that she was disobeying, because he didn’t mind being the one to put her in her place. But her words. They cut deep, like shards of jagged glass and she really was pushing him too far. He had been so close the previous night, so desperate to shove her down on the sofa he was holding her on. Desperate.

“Tha’s enough enit Scabior!” Someone’s startled voice permeated his thoughts. “Want ‘im in one piece when we get ‘em to the Ministry right?”

Scabior panted, gave the unknown man one last kick, before he stepped away.

Why had she comforted him the night before? Why had she soothed him with her touch and yet refused him that morning? He didn’t understand.

“Better report to the Manor.” The gruff voice of Greyback interrupted his train of thought.  
  
“Yeah.” Scabior replied, not really caring. He noted as he walked away, that Greyback’s gaze followed him.

Had the Malfoys paid Greyback to keep an eye on him?

Great. Another reason to worry for his life, and all because of her.

That was it! When he got back to the cabin, he was going to show her who was boss. She was his. _His_. His to do with as he pleased. He would ignore her protests. He’d punish her in the way he cared to.

Yes. He’d give her a reason to obey him.

*                      *                     *                     *

Scabior made his way back to the cabin after spending longer than usual to check around him. Knowing that Greyback had a sudden interest in him made him more cautious than he had been before. He’d have to be careful. He was careful to keep his eyes peeled as he walked through the forest, hiding his tracks in the snow by apparating every few feet.

Malfoy had looked even more bedraggled than usual when Scabior had reported to him. He hated that he had to update them at the manor. The Ministry was easier, quicker. Lucius had done his usual Lord of the Manor rant to him. Going on about Mudbloods being the scum of the earth and how it was Scabior’s job to capture them so that they could be eradicated.

Then the topic changed. Had he sighted Harry Potter yet? Had he found any signs of the Golden Trio that he wanted so urgently. Scabior lied through his teeth. Denied all knowledge of the girl and her two foolish friends. At least part of it was true. Scabior had bowed, kneeled, yes m’lord-ed and then had left as soon as he could. He was too angry, too eager to return to that chit.

Scabior had made one stop on his way back, carefully making sure that he wasn’t followed. Apparating into a Muggle store that he knew had lapsed security, he was able to grab a few things for the girl. Things she wouldn’t have a choice about wearing. He’d given up on trying to improve things between them. He’d been trying since the other night and she still so clearly thought the worst of him. So why shouldn’t he be that monster she expected?

When Scabior arrived back at the hut, he slammed the door open, hoping the noise would make her jump again, ready to get some sick sort of gratification out of it. But he was the one to be surprised.

The Granger girl was standing at the kitchen unit, chopping up carrots.

When Scabior walked in through the door he saw her, the thin bed sheet draped around her, forming some sort of dress, (something to hide her bottom half with.) On her top half she’d pulled her jumper back on over the make-shift dress.

Scabior almost turned around and left the hut again. This display had completely thrown him. He glanced over to the table, saw her jeans, saw his clothes; they had all been folded up into a neat and tidy pile. He saw that the floor had been swept and the fire was burning brightly.  
  
The young woman turned to look at him, her eyes big and bright and so damned irritating, because that look of sorrow was staining him.

“I’m sorry.”

_What?_

Scabior was sure he’d heard her speak to him, saw her lips move, but didn’t believe it for a moment, because the last thing he had expected was an apology.

“I’m sorry…” The Granger girl repeated quietly. “About this morning.”

“Err… right.” Scabior replied, stunned and annoyed.

Scabior looked over at the stove and saw that the pot was bubbling away. The Granger woman seemed to be making some kind of soup. The smell of fresh bread filled the cabin and he guessed that she was baking it in the oven. It looked like she’d been working hard all day.

“Here.” Scabior pulled a dress from the bag of stolen items. “I got this. You’re gonna wear it.”

_Fuck._

Hermione grit her teeth, took a breath. Had to remind herself to be polite, be thankful.

“Thank you.” Hermione said as she took the dress from him; found that it was surprisingly not too slutty. It was covered in a creamy brown floral pattern, something that she found odd for him to have picked up.

“I’ll go and put it on.” Hermione forced her lips to curl up into a smile as she glanced up at him. She put down the almost blunt knife that she had been struggling to cut vegetables with and went to walk towards the bathroom.

“No. Not in there.”

Suddenly the Snatcher had closed the distance between them and painfully grabbing her upper arm, was dragging her over to the fireplace. She clamped her mouth shut, to prevent the whimper of pain and fear from slipping through her lips. He let go of her violently, causing her to stumble slightly, before he sat down on the sofa in front of her. He crossed one leg over the other, his right calf on his left knee as he looked up at her.

“You’re gonna get changed right here.” The Snatcher announced, anger beneath his words.

Hermione knew what this was about. It was a punishment. He was still angry from that morning’s events, and somehow, seemingly more so than she was.

“I wanna see what I got for my efforts.”

_Fuck._

Hermione hadn’t entered this into her plan, but she grit her teeth together and turned her back to him, trying to prepare herself for what was about to happen.

“Turn around.” The Snatcher drawled lazily, and Hermione frowned into the fireplace, grinding her teeth in disbelief and annoyance. Merlin, she hated him.

The Granger woman turned around to face him, more quickly than he anticipated, a blank expression on her face. It surprised him that she wasn’t kicking and screaming and refusing yet.

“Okay.” Her voice was barely louder that the crackling of the fire, but Scabior heard it. He looked up at her, as she stared at the floor. Her cheeks were beginning to flush. She seemed to steel herself before she went to hurriedly yank the jumper up over her head but he made a noise of protest.  
  
“Nu-uh. Slowly.”

The word had too much emphasis and she had to blink furiously to stop her eyes from watering. She could do this. Maybe she should pretend it was Ron.

_No! Don’t do that, you’ll only get nervous. Just try to ignore him. Try._

But Hermione made the mistake of looking up, her eyes meeting his. Stormy grey eyes, less blue than usual today. Like she was cast under a spell, she didn’t take her eyes from him. She tried to reign in the anger, make sure he couldn’t see it. But she wasn’t sure how successful she was being, because at that moment, as she slowly pulled the jumper from her head, she hated him more ever.

Scabior smirked. He could see the angry flames burning in her eyes as she held his gaze. She didn’t take her eyes from him, but he lowered his gaze from her eyes, let them roam her body. The jumper fell to the floor and he waited, trying to ignore the anticipation he felt as she reached up behind her neck to where she had tied the sheet around it like some sort of halter neck wrap dress.

Hermione closed her eyes, only for a moment, before the knot loosened and the sheet fell away. Her cheeks burned. She could feel the heat rising in her skin. Humiliation, embarrassment, shame. They were all there, running through her body, reminding her of what she was doing and who was watching. Even with her eyes closed, she could feel his eyes on her.

Scabior’s eyes lingered on her slender, creamy legs, wanting them to be wrapped around him. They moved up, lingered again on the lacey red panties she was wearing.

Merlin, the things he would do to that girl given half the chance.

Hermione stood, waiting. She still wore the vest but hoped that he would stop at that. He didn’t.  
  
“And now the rest.” The Snatcher prompted her, waving his hand at the top half of her body.

Hermione grit her teeth, her eyes watering again, her anger threatening to bubble over and give her away. Shame burned her skin as she peeled the vest off over her head.

Merlin, this was the most humiliating thing she’d ever done, and she was sure that he knew it. She could feel his gaze piercing her skin, could feel the way his eyes travelled across her body. The tension in the room was rising, becoming as taut as her skin felt under his gaze.

If the world were ever going to end, she would welcome it at any moment.

Scabior swallowed. He had been lounging back, trying to relax, show her he was boss and that she didn’t bother him. Was pretending that her presence wasn’t a bother, wasn’t a problem. But when she peeled off her vest, revealing the matching red bra, it was most definitely a problem.

The woman before him was slender, but she still had an hourglass figure. Her hips and arse were rounded, her stomach toned and flat, and then her breasts. He knew from the bra size that they weren’t big, but they were perfect. just the right size and shape. Those perky breasts would fit perfectly in his hands.

Hermione wanted to scream, wanted to cry but she bit her tongue and wrapped an arm around herself, standing awkwardly. She wasn’t used to anyone seeing her body. She wasn’t curvy like Ginny and she didn’t have big breasts like Lavender Brown. Although her legs were toned from all the running and walking she had been doing since following Harry on his journey, the way the Snatcher was looking at them told her it wasn’t necessarily a blessing.

All she had to be thankful for was that the boys weren’t there. They couldn’t see what she was doing. What the Snatcher was putting her through. Thank fuck.

“Turn around.” The Snatcher’s voice sounded slightly different, as he motioned for her to turn on the spot. It was a little lower, a little gruffer, but she ignored it and obeyed, screaming out loud inside her head.

Slowly Hermione turned on the spot, rotating until she was facing him once again. Godric help her, he’d better not request that she removed her underwear. She waited, her arm wrapped around herself, beginning to shiver from the cold despite the fire being behind her. She wrapped her other arm around herself, trying to both shield herself from his gaze and warm herself.

“Arms down.”

His voice was definitely darker, and Hermione swallowed before dropping her arms down to her sides. Her anger was beginning to ebb away, leaving her with only shame and humiliation to deal with, and they were so much worse than the anger. She could deal with anger, she could use it, but shame and humiliation could only be self-pitying.

_Please let him be finished, please let this be over._  
  
Hermione went to bend down, to pick up the dress she had placed at her feet. Suddenly the material was torn away from her, too quickly for her to grasp it. The Snatcher now stood in front of her, holding the dress.

“Wha-What?” Hermione began, but the Snatcher didn’t reply, he only stared. “I thought you wanted me to wear it!” Her voice was more of a cry this time.

“I changed my mind.” Scabior’s voice was monotonous, he was trying to reign it all in. The lust, the need, the want. She didn’t need to see or hear it. He heard her make a little whimper as she took half a step back, looking down at the floor.

_What a bastard._

Scabior watched her as she shivered, before she looked up, her eyes shining. Innocence, sorrow and desperation- they all shone from her eyes. She was so readable.

“If yer wanna be able to wear it… or anything’ for that matter…” He added as she shivered on the spot. “Then yer have t’ kiss me.”

_What?_

Hermione stared back at him; lips parted in horror at his latest condition. She flinched as he pulled his wand from his waistcoat, before flicking it at the clothes and sheet on the floor. They suddenly flew into the store cupboard, which opened and then slammed shut after them.

_No._

Hermione’s head went blank. She didn’t want to do this.  
  
_Just follow the plan. Do as he wants you to. Just do it this one time,  just this once. If it’s only the once, then it’s okay. You need clothes, what good will your plan be if you’re almost naked?_

That rational voice in her head tried to convince her, but she was still standing on the spot, staring.

“Yer don’t want the dress then?” Scabior began, trying to hurry her, because he needed it. Needed to taste her again, and this time he wasn’t going to force himself on her. She would kiss him, even if it were coerced, even if he was blackmailing her. She would kiss him.

The Snatcher moved then, went to move away, and she panicked. She stepped forward, on tiptoes, her hands on his shoulders, and hurriedly placed a quick, chaste kiss on his lips. She stepped back again hurriedly, waiting.

Scabior eyebrows rose, before he sneered at her.  
  
“Yer call that a kiss?” Scabior practically snorted, before sitting back down on the sofa. “Guess you’re gonna have t’ wander round like that then.”

“No!” Hermione cried out.

_Fuck_.

“I’ll- I’ll try again.” Hermione told him desperately.  
  
“Yer had better.” The Snatcher smirked at her as he sat back on the sofa, his long legs stretching out before him.

_Fuck._

All Hermione had to do was stick to her plan. Just do what she needed to do to keep the Snatcher happy. So, she closed her eyes, bracing herself as she shivered. Her heart was beating furiously as she took half a step towards him, hesitating again as his hungry eyes stared at her, expectantly.

Hermione lifted her chin up as she took some deep breaths. She was a Gryffindor. She could do this. It was just the once, and if she followed her plan, then hopefully it would work.

Scabior held back a laugh as he watched her, standing timidly before him, making him want her all the more. She looked delicious, and all he wanted was a taste.

Hermione closed her eyes once more before she took another half step towards him, and then another, reminding herself of why she had to do this. When she stopped, her legs moments from his, she felt small. Her heart was pounding, her cheeks were burning, and her body was flushed from shame and embarrassment. Not even Ron had seen her this naked before. Why did it have to be him, this Snatcher?

As she edged closer Scabior waited, watching her as she decided what to do. He saw her shoulders tense before she took a breath and then she abruptly moved and climbed astride him, her knees on the sofa, as she had been the night before when he’d put her there. Just what he wanted.

Hermione didn’t want to touch him, knew she had to, but was too scared. He was staring at her, a flicker of a smile on his face, but it was the hunger in his eyes that both terrified her and set her body on fire. That tingle in her body returned. Adrenaline, anticipation- she told herself. His scent was suffocating her again. She was drowning in it.

Scabior watched as the Granger woman’s chest rose and fell rapidly, her breasts heaving in the red lace of the bra she wore. She shivered slightly and was too scared to touch him. He had to wait, impatiently watching as she took several minutes to put her hands on his shoulders. He was impatient, but waited all the same, let her take her time… and it was killing him. That scent, her soft, smooth skin, the heat from her body made him want to reach out and touch her. He had to reign it in, remind himself that this was her punishment and that he would ruin it if he lost control with her.

Finally, she was sat, astride him, her hands on his shoulders and she was staring at him, her lips slightly parted, and she looked terrified.

“It’s only a kiss love.”

The Snatcher’s voice was a murmur, more reassuring than anything else. Hermione swallowed once, her lips together before she took a breath and closed her eyes. She leant towards him, her nose brushing lightly against his before her lips fell on his.

The Granger woman’s soft lips were on his pressing firmly and then they were parting, and he parted his for her. Her tongue slid into his mouth and suddenly he couldn’t hold back anymore.

Hermione felt the Snatcher’s sudden intake of breath before he grabbed a hold, pulling her in to him. His tongue was battling hers and for once she was battling back. All the anger, the shame and the humiliation; she poured it all back into that kiss. Wanted to make it as punishing for him as it was for her. His hand was in her hair, grasping a handful of it, pulling it a little, but she ignored it, as her hand slid round to the back of his neck.

Scabiors hand wrapped around the back of her waist, pulling her in, her chest slamming against his. He was battling for dominance now. The little chit was trying to take over, but he was fighting back. She was going to learn to obey, even if he had to kiss her until she suffocated.

The hand on the Snatcher’s shoulder moved to press against his chest. Her head was spinning. All she could smell was him, all she could feel was him, that tingle and tension and the heat that was rising between them. Why was she letting this go on? Why was she trying to battle against him? She had no idea. All she knew was that she couldn’t breathe, her head was spinning, and she was burning all over. Heat was spreading across her body, and moving down…

Breath-taking, hungry, desperate. It was the only way to describe the kiss that was still ongoing. The Granger woman shifted on top of him, as he pressed forward slightly, lifting her lap closer to his. Fuck. She was painfully beautiful, and he wanted so badly to make her his, to consume her, until all she saw was him.

Hermione’s eyes snapped opened, wide as she took an intake of breath.

_Fuck._

Scabior felt it, felt her body tense as she realized, felt her push against him as she began to scramble backwards. He let her go but held her on his lap.

Hermione had felt the hard and heated lump in his trousers as he had slid her forward against it and it had been the only thing to stop her. To stop her kissing him, because she’d had no intention of stopping.

_Fuck. What was wrong with her?!_

_Fuck. What was wrong with him?!_

Why did he get a hard on like a schoolboy for her? What was it about her that made him want her so badly that it ached? And why was she staring at him like that? Her eyes were so wide, so bright and they looked slightly horrified. It only pissed him off again. He frowned back at her as they stared only at each other’s eyes for a moment.

Then she moved. She reached for the dress before he could stop her, and he made no move to take it back from her.

The Sntacher’s hand released her and Hermione felt the loss of heat, felt a strange sensation in the place his hand had been. She felt a sudden loss as she scrambled backwards off his lap, pulling the dress hurriedly over her head before he changed his mind and stopped her.

Why did he make her feel like this?

  
  
  
A/N: Oh dear. Ok guys, what do you think? Also special thanks to NotEvenClose for letting me know about the double post. xx

New A/N: I think you'll really like the next chapter :P ;)

 


	20. Punishment

 

 

New A/N: Not doing great at the moment guys but really hope you enjoy this chapter. It was a lot of fun to write… in a sadistic kinda way :P

 **Disclaimer:**  I just wanted to let people know that I am personally all about consent. I've edited this chapter ever so slightly to make it a little less dubious, however I can compartmentalise the difference between fantasy and real life. So, although this is the kind of fic I enjoy writing I just wanted to add this disclaimer to express where I stand on the subject but also as an added trigger warning. 

  
Original A/N: Sorry it's been a while folks. I went away to london for a bit and have been a bit out of sorts. I had this chapter tucked away but was trying to stay one written chapter ahead, I just hope you can forgive me if it takes a while for the next one :( **Pleading face**

  
I wana say thank you so0o0o much for the continued support you've all shown and for the emails, tumblr comments, follows, fanvids ect that you've all been making me >_< I really am so grateful. That's why you know I won't stop this fic. :) xxx Please stick with me, have faith me in me :) xxx

Email: Gryffindorgirl2010@hotmail.co.uk

Tumblr: http://gryffindorgirl7777.tumblr.com/

Songs: Blindfold by Sleeping Wolf  
            Come and Get Me by Sleeping  
            Man or a Monster (Feat Zayde Wølf)

 

  
**Chapter Twenty**

 

  
**Punishment**

 

  
Scabior watched the Granger woman from the sofa. She was standing in the kitchen, had found some string and tied her hair up into a bun with it. The stubborn curls were refusing to stay in place, some falling down around her face. He watched as she brushed one back and tucked it behind her ear, out of the way. She was chopping up vegetables and was taking longer with it than she should, probably for two reasons; One, was that she didn’t want to face him, and two, she had to use a normal cutlery knife instead of a sharp chopping knife. No way was he going to arm her with a weapon like that. She’d try to cut something of his off in his sleep!

Scabior couldn’t help himself. His eyes wandered across her, taking in how well the dress suited her, how it hugged her curves and caressed her skin. He took in her bare shoulders, the curve of her neck. That woman had kissed him, and not just a quick, chaste kiss on the lips. She had breathed him in; she had kissed him until his head spun, until he wanted to lose control with her, over and over again. She looked so innocent standing there at the kitchen unit, the portrayal of the perfect, domesticated housewife, that he still had no idea as to the intentions behind it. He hadn’t even asked her to. But he had his own suspicions and he knew that she wasn’t as innocent as she came across. That kiss had proved it.

What had she done?

Hermione cut the carrots on the chopping board, but she wasn’t paying any mind to it. Her thoughts were elsewhere, trying to bury themselves into the back of her head, out of sight and out of mind but she kept examining them, questioning over and over. What had she done? Because she had kissed him like her life depended on it, and it hadn’t. It really hadn’t, but she had let it all go. She had let go of the anger and she had pressed against him, kissing him until her head spun from a lack of oxygen.

 _It was just a kiss… Just a kiss_.

Hermione tried to tell herself repeatedly. But it really hadn’t felt like ‘just a kiss.’ Sure, she only had the comparisons of the fumbling and nervous dalliances with Victor Krum one summer to compare it to, but it had felt so much more… so much terrifyingly _more_.

Hermione had wanted the Snatcher’s touch, had let him pull her in. She’d felt the heat swell within her and her back had arched into him. She’d breathed him in, her tongue caressing his until she was dizzy. Would she have stopped? If he hadn’t pulled her forward, reminding her how horrifyingly dangerous it was. How dangerous _he_ could be, if she dropped her guard.

Why was her body still tingling, like the crackling of electrical energy before a storm? Her bones still ached at the loss of his touch, her tongue darted out and over her dry lips with a nervous anticipation.

Hermione jumped suddenly, feeling large hands on her waist without the warning sound of footsteps behind her. She spun around, the knife still in her hand, only for the Snatcher to catch her, grabbing her wrist. She couldn’t help herself. She stared up into those piercing icy eyes and began to tremble.

The Snatcher walked forward slowly and deliberately, causing her to step back in response, her wrist still in his grasp, her back hitting the kitchen unit.

“Wha-” Hermione began, her voice too quiet for her own liking.

Suddenly the Snatcher bent her wrist back, her injured arm ached in protest. Her eyes widened, darting up to his, a blank and unreadable expression on his face. His eyes were dark storms, roiling and she felt her stomach coil. She held onto the knife until she could bear it no longer, crying out and dropping the knife from the pain, frightened that her tiny wrist might break in his large hand.

“What are you doing?” Hermione cried out, her throat tight, her eyes watery from the pain. He abruptly forced her around, making her face the unit again, before slamming her forward against the kitchen countertop. Hermione cried out in pain, tried to step back, but he closed the distance between them. His body bent over her, holding her there, sandwiched between him and the unit. The Snatcher reached both arms around her.

“What are you doing?” Hermione repeated, more scared this time, so much more terrified because she wasn’t facing him. She tried to glance back at him, but he took that moment to grab both her wrists, forcing them together before grasping them both in one hand.

Hermione stilled; eyes wide in terror as his body pressed her hips painfully against the kitchen countertop.

“What…” she began but changed her mind, the anger and irritation winning out the unspoken battle inside of her. “Get off!”

“Stop… talking.”

The Snatcher’s only demand, the only thing he’d said since silently creeping up on her and his slow and deliberate words had set every hair on her body on end. His words reverberated with an implicit warning, one that silenced her with their deliberate intonation.

The Snatcher’s free hand found her hair, grabbing the bun she’d barely got the riotous curls to relent into and forced her head to the side. Her neck arched painfully as he leant forward, breathed her in, let his lips lingering against her soft, creamy skin.

Hermione couldn’t help the whimper that escaped her.  
  
Scabior sneered.  
  
“I ‘ave a theory…” he began, his voice low, his breath tickling her skin.

“What… may that be?” Hermione bit out, struggling to push herself away from the unit and out of his grasp.

“Yer aren’t as innocent… as you’d like me t’ think yer are.”

Scabior trailed his tongue down her neck as he revelled in her shiver, feeling it against the length of his body as he pressed himself against her.

“Get off of me.” Hermione bit out angrily. Because he was fucking up her plan, so beyond royally, and once again she had found herself trapped within his grasp.

“No.”

Blank, blunt, one word and definite. Scabior had decided to see this through; she wasn’t going to win this time.

Hermione’s breathing was fast, breathy and the way his lips and tongue caressed her skin, trailed down her neck, it made it worse. It made her close her eyes, and above all, she knew that she mustn’t forget who was doing this to her. The enemy. She couldn’t afford to let her eyes close, to fall into his touch. She mustn’t. So, she forced her eyes open again.

“Give me a wand and we’ll see if I’m innocent… or not.” Hermione half breathed, half gasped, because as she struggled, she could feel his wanting, that raging need. It was pressed against her buttocks, making her fear the situation even more.

Scabior let out a bark of a laugh, stroked her skin with his free hand on the opposite shoulder as he pressed his smile against her neck. “That’s not the way I wanna prove my theory, Princess.”

Hermione trembled, still trying to push against him as he put his weight into holding her there beneath him, pressed against the countertop. Trapped.

“Then how-?” Hemione began, but she was cut off. The Snatcher’s teeth suddenly bit down on the point between her shoulder and her neck and she let out a cry that wasn’t all because of pain.

Scabior smiled against her skin again but didn’t stop to talk this time. His lips continued to torture her neck and shoulder, her bare skin smelling so sweet. He sucked it in between his lips, tasted it with his tongue. His free hand reached round, wrapped around her throat at first, making her still immediately. He could hear her laboured breathing as he held her there, frozen in his gentle grasp, feeling the hurried pounding of her pulse beneath his fingers, before his hand continued down to assault her breasts. She was still struggling, still putting up a fight against him and he could tell that she was still trying to ignore the things he was doing to her, things that made other women moan his name.  
  
Hermione was squirming, wriggling around, and aware that she was only making things worse for herself as the Snatcher’s growing need pressed against her struggling form. His hand was torturing her, his fingers working against the mounds of her breasts. He was making her want to moan and cry all at the same time, because she didn’t want it, and yet simultaneously, she did. Above all, she knew it was wrong, knew it should only be her body responding, but she couldn’t help herself. She was falling into his touch; it was all too easy to close her eyes and pretend he wasn’t the enemy. All too easy to fall inside the pleasure he was causing… and the pain.

Because he pinched her nipple, or bit into her skin, just enough to hurt, just every so often, to mix pain with the pleasure. To remind her that this was a punishment. She knew that she was wrong and that he had to be right. She couldn’t be innocent, not if she liked the things he was doing to her.

Hermione suddenly stilled, the memory of his words flashing through her head, like a clear light beaming through the fog.

Scabior frowned slightly for a second, looking up and around at the woman. She was staring at the kitchen top, her eyes not even glancing up at his.

“Was my theory correct?” Scabior murmured against her skin, tracing kisses along her shoulder as he slipped straps of her dress down her shoulders, one at a time.

“No.” Hermione replied, making him pause as he lingered there. “But I realised that you said you wouldn’t do anything with someone who was unwilling. You said you wouldn’t force them.” She spoke clearly, trying to ignore how her heart pounded and her blood raced. She had to get him away from her. “So, get off of me and I’ll finish dinner.”  
  
A mix of amusement at her audacity, and then anger.

“And I thought yer said that I was a monster?” Scabior’s voice sounded gruffer as he half-growled, half-whispered in her ear. “So, I may as well act like one.”

The Snatcher suddenly grabbed Hermione forcefully around the waist and shoved her up against the countertop and forward, her toes barely touching the floor now, the carrots flying everywhere as he slammed her chest to the countertop.

Scabior pressed himself against her, as he pushed her hard against the countertop. She cried out and he was sure he had hurt her a little but didn’t care. She’d soon be crying out for different reasons.

Suddenly the Snatcher’s free hand was moving from her back, reaching round and grasping her hip. His knee was forcing its way between her legs, demandingly, causing them to part slightly. Her toes barely brushing against the cool wood of the floor beneath them.

 _No. Oh Merlin no!_  
  
“Stop it!” The Granger woman shrieked at him this time, twisting and turning, frowning at him. Her eyes burning him with their startled brightness, but he pressed himself against her, bent over her to keep her in place. She wasn’t winning this time.

The Snatcher’s hand moved from her hip and reached round, and down. He reached between Hermione’s legs and pressed his fingers against her through the dress and she stilled immediately, biting her lip and closing her eyes tightly.

Scabior felt her body tense as his fingers reached that point between her legs. Heard her intake of breath before he glanced at her, saw she was biting her lip. She was trying to straighten her back, but his chest pressed against her and his hands held her wrists in place. She was trapped, completely at his mercy.

Scabior held his fingers there for a moment, just to highlight how much power he had over her, just to add to the realisation that would be running through her head as she understood what he was doing, what he was about to do. He could feel the racing of her heart through their chests, could almost feel her blood rushing in anticipation of what was about to happen. Then he moved his fingers, still pressed against her, over the dress and the material of her panties. This was enough… for now.

Hermione let out a cry that she tried to keep quiet, trying to push herself up. She was using the leverage of her arms to try and force her way up against him, her forearms and elbows against the hard wood of the countertop but he tugged on her wrists again, causing her to fall forward against the kitchen countertop again. All the while his fingers rubbed against her, torturously.

_Oh Merlin. Oh no. Oh fuck…_

Hermione was panting now, and she couldn’t help it. As his fingers rubbed against her clit, heat pooling between her legs, his lips were on her neck again.

_Oh Godric… fuck._

Hermione wanted to cry, but all she could do was cry out, whimper and continuously fight against him. Because she wouldn’t give up, she wouldn’t give in to him. She tried to ignore his touch, felt her knees buckle slightly as his fingers trailed circles against her clit.

_Oh fuck!_

Hermione’s teeth bit into her bottom lip, trying to quieten her cries, her breathing breathy and obvious. She still pushed against him, tried to close her legs but his knee was in the way. She was beginning to fight against herself, trying not to rub against his knee to try and relieve herself from the sensations that were building, the sensations he was causing.

“Stop it!” She cried out at him, her eyes closing again as he watched her, her skin so deliciously flushed.

“Why?” Scabior’s lips were pressed against the bare part of her back, tracing kisses down until he reached the zip of the dress and she was quivering against him. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. It was true. He wasn’t hurting her. But this was so much worse, and he had to know that.

“Please!... ah!” Hermione tried to cry out, but her knees buckled again as his fingers worked against her, sure that being sandwiched between him and countertop was the only thing holding her up now.

“Please what?”

The Snatcher’s smooth voice was in her ear again. Hermione couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t focus, tried to focus on his voice, tried to ignore his touch, that heat, that wet heat and desperate coiling tension.

Scabior was barely in control, barely stopping himself from pulling up her dress, pulling down his pants and fucking her right there and then against the kitchen unit. But this, this was worth it. This was worth waiting, worth reining it in. Seeing her like this, coming undone beneath his fingers… this was so much better.

“Stop.” Hermione breathed, pressed against the kitchen countertop, she turned her head; let her cheek rest on the cool, hard surface. She couldn’t breathe; every fibre of her being was on fire. Every fibre that he touched was tingling. She could feel the rapid pounding of his heart, his chest pressed against her back and it seemed to compete with hers. She was stuck, the weight of him against her, suffocating her with his scent, and with this blessed tension he was causing.

“No… I’m provin’ my theory.” The Snatcher breathed. “Provin’ you’re not the innocent little madam yer pretend t’ be.” His voice sounded gravelly as he leant over her, breathed words onto her back. Both dress straps hanging from her shoulders now.

Hermione was panting, breathing him in, her chest heaving against the countertop, her back rising and falling against him.

And his need was raging against her, aching.

The Snatcher’s hair tickled her back, his lips tracing her skin. This was torture. She felt heady, felt weak, weaker than she ever had before. This was so much worse, because every little movement of his fingers was causing her body to sing.

“Do y’ think…” He breathed against her, breathing in her scent before pressing his lips against her back. “If I lifted this…” And suddenly the hand that had been eliciting moans from her, was grabbing at the material of the dress, bunching and lifting it up.

“No!” Hermione cried, struggling again with a renewed energy.

“Do yer think…” He continued a little louder, fighting against her. “I’ll find that you’re wet?”

Hermione closed her eyes tightly, tears squeezing out from the edges of them.

_Don’t let him do this!_

But it was too late, the Snatcher’s fingers reached down and pressed against her again through the material of her dampened underwear. Hermione burned with shame, with hate, with self-hatred. How could her body betray her like this?!

“I don’t think that you’re innocent love.” The Snatcher breathed against her. Not mocking her as much as she expected. But then his fingers were resuming their ministrations, rubbing against her, more pressure, faster this time. Torturing her deliciously.

Hermione cried out into the cabin. Couldn’t keep quiet anymore. Tears still fell, the odd one or two rolling down her face as she began to lose herself in that heavenly heat.

“Stop… Please stop…” She panted against the countertop, her voice pleading and desperate. Because above all she didn’t want him to make her… Didn’t and did want this torture to end.

Scabior smiled, ready to use the magic words.  
  
“Tell me that yer belong to me, and I’ll stop.”

Hermione’s heart stopped.

They were words she would refuse to say, no matter what the cost and he would use them against her.

“Admit that you’re mine now.”

Hermione had frozen, could feel her body rocking slightly, and could feel her legs shaking vaguely beneath the riotous pleasure that he was eliciting from her. No. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t say that. Wouldn’t admit to it. His fingers kept moving, around in circles and then rubbing back and forth and the whole time she was moaning out, her back arching up, only to be pushed down again.

Scabior was breathless, almost panting as much as she was as he stood there, still dressed in his coat for fuck sake. All he could smell in the air around him was her. That heavenly sweet, vanilla scent.

“No!” Hermione couldn’t stop calling out, could hardly breathe, feeling so close to release that she almost begged for it. “Stop!”

“Say it.” Scabior half growled into her ear. But he knew she wouldn’t. Knew she wouldn’t say those words, and he would use that. “I’m not forcin’ yer this time… all yer have to do, is say it… Say that yer belong t’ me.”

But Hermione couldn’t breathe, could hardly tell where she was any more. All she could feel was that heat, the tingling, coiling tension that wouldn’t stop and had only been building.

Scabior felt that her whole body was tensing; she was near the edge, trying not to give in to it. He slowed down, just slightly. His fingers lessening the pressure on her wet, lace pants.

“Please…” she panted, unsure what she was asking for anymore. “Ah!” The Snatcher’s fingers circled her clit and her head fell back as she cried out. “Please… stop!” She was panting, her face was flushed, sweat on her brow. But he kissed her neck, biting down before he replied.

“Say that yer belong to me.”  
  
“No.”

“Say it.”

The Snatchers fingers moved again, faster, more demanding, trying to tease the words from her lips as he growled in her ear. But she wouldn’t. She refused. She would not be someone’s plaything. He did not own her. She didn’t belong to anyone!  
  
But she was so close, the tears fell from the corners of her eyes again, because the last thing she wanted was to come in front of him. She refused. Didn’t want him to be the one making her moan… and yet… no one else had ever touched her like this. No one else had made her head spin so fast and her breath catch in her chest.

“Say it and I’ll stop.”

“No! No, just stop!” Hermione’s voice was desperate, pleading, but she still wouldn’t say those words.  
  
“You’re not gonna say it?” Scabior breathed against her neck, his cock rock hard from watching her come undone beneath him. Her skin was flushed, and those moans and cries had him aching, painfully.

“NO!” Hermine cried out, her eyes widening because she about to fall over the edge of the precipice.

Suddenly he stopped.

The Snatcher’s hands left her, and he moved away. Without his weight bearing down on her she straightened up in surprise. But her legs shook and gave out and she crumpled to the floor. She looked up at him, with wide, confused, wet eyes.  
  
_Why had he stopped?_

Scabior could see the question burning, and if he hadn’t been trying to make a point, he might have laughed.

The Snatcher glared down at her, his eyes piercing hers as she clenched her legs together beneath the dress. Trying to rub them together just ever so slightly to try and release that ache from between them.

Scabior turned, walking over to the sofa, his cock aching painfully as he tried to ignore it. Like he predicted, he saw her move to run and hide in the bathroom.

“Nu-uh.” Scabior pointed his wand at her, she stilled, simple. “You’re not goin’ in there. You’re not gonna touch yourself, is that clear?” She frowned back at him, probably because he had the audacity to believe that she would, but he didn’t care. “It’s your punishment… Now get dinner sorted.”

 

  
A/N: Sometimes I feel like a sadist :P x

New A/N: Please feed my hungry and doubtful writing monsters with some yummy reviews. I really want to know what you think. That and doubt and fear are very debilitating and are somewhat haunting me at the moment.

 

 

 


	21. Accident

[](https://imgur.com/aeuxlrP)

 

New A/N: All’s quiet in the comment section at the moment. Was the previous chapter too much? Or not enough? :S  Anxiety sucks you guys. I hope it was an okay chapter and that everyone was okay with my disclaimer. Or was it that which put you off? Here’s hoping that this chapter is alright.

**Disclaimer:**  I just wanted to let people know that I am personally all about consent. I've edited this chapter ever so slightly to make it a little less dubious, however I can compartmentalise the difference between fantasy and real life. So, although this is the kind of fic I enjoy writing I just wanted to add this disclaimer to express where I stand on the subject but also as an added trigger warning. 

Original A/N: Hey, Another chapter for you x

Email: [Gryffindorgirl2010@hotmail.co.uk](mailto:Gryffindorgirl2010@hotmail.co.uk)  
Tumblr: <http://gryffindorgirl7777.tumblr.com/>

 

Songs: Come and Get Me- Sleeping Wolf      
            Devil Devil- MILCIK  
            Animals- Maroon 5

 

**Chapter Twenty-One**

** Accident. **

 

Wide wet eyes. Rosy, reddened lips parted in disbelief.  
  
Scabior watched for a second as she stared up at him, before turning his head away from her. _Fuck his cock was aching._ He tried to ignore her, tried to ignore her burning gaze, which he could feel burning the skin on the nape of his neck. He was certain that she was glowering angrily at him now that the disbelief was wearing away.

Seeing her like that, a flushed and frenzied mess beneath him had threatened to make him come undone.  Although he had wanted that result, to make her crumble into a quivering wreck beneath his hands, he was now in a predicament. He had a raging hard on, and she was slumped on the floor, looking like she wanted to be thoroughly and brutally fucked.

Hermione couldn’t believe it. She actually couldn’t believe it! Was there no limit? Were there no boundaries that this… this… _beast_ wouldn’t cross? Not only had he violated her by blackmailing her into and forcing her to perform fellatio on him, but now he had violated her by pushing her to the brink of insanity.

Because that was how Hermione had felt, as she had quivered and cried out beneath him, her skin fire and fury. She had felt like she was falling, deep into the depths of absurdity, into the abyss and was watching as the abyss stared back; blue-grey eyes… and it wasn’t over yet.

Hermione’s anger was boiling up inside and bubbling over and she couldn’t help but vent it. She glanced around her, eyes wide and searching for something, anything. They fell upon the cutlery knife he had made her drop and she reached out, seizing it before flinging it across the room at the Snatcher. The knife clattered to the floor noisily as he ducked reflexively, and it bounced off of the sofa.

“Hey!” The Snatcher yelled, scowling deeply at her, but she wasn’t going to be swayed by his anger this time. Wasn’t going to bow to fear.

“You!” Hermione breathed at him, her voice becoming more of a growl when she continued, after searching for the words. She had jumped to her feet again, was angrily pulling at the straps of her dress, and yanking them back up, onto her shoulders.

“You… Insufferable… arrogant… _disgusting_ , perverted prick!” Hermione yelled, the sound of her voice echoing around the cabin loudly. “You think that you can bring me here… _keep_ me here? You think that you can do what you like to me?” Her voice broke slightly, and she trailed off again as her mind flashed back to mere moments ago.  
  
“I didn’t do anything wrong!” Hermione was screaming now, angrier than she had ever been with Ron, and that really was saying something. “I did as you said!” Furious tears rolled down her cheeks, burning her skin. “I took off my clothes, I-I-I _kissed_ you!” She frowned at him; her fists clenched so tightly that her nails were digging into her skin. “I did as you said, so why…?”

Her voice failed her as she thought back on what had just happened. Why had he done it? Why? She needed to understand, needed that insight into the mind of her captor, because she hated not understanding. Needed to learn what on earth he was thinking, what made him act this way. __  
  
“Because it was fun.”

Hermione looked up slowly, her eyes wide and staring at hearing his response.  
  
_What?_  
  
The Snatcher was shrugging, seemingly bemused by her outrage.

“You’re fun to play with, that’s why.”

Because there was absolutely no way that Scabior was going to admit that he wanted her, needed her, _still_ needed her, and with a ferocity that was actually causing him pain.  
  
“I’m fun to…” Hermione echoed him in barely a murmur as she stared at him in utter astonishment. Then her brows furrowed, her scowl deeper than before, (if that was humanly possible.) “You did that because you thought it was fun?” She shrieked at him in horror.

“Yeah, now shut your row or I’ll do it again.” The Snatcher flashed her a lop-sided, feral smile at her. He even shifted in his seat, looking like he was about to rise from the sofa, just to highlight the threat he made.

Scabior shifted uncomfortably, because he was already aching, physically hurting from his wanting, and the idea of doing what he’d just done to her again was mouth-watering. He was desperate for it, wanted it so badly that one of his hands was gripping the material of the sofa seat to prevent himself from leaping up and taking her there and then.  
  
“You disgusting… _skrewt_ of a man! You’re like a Heliopath! You _burn_ and _destroy_ everything in your path! Do you know what you’ve done? Do you know what you’re doing by keeping me here?” Hermione shrieked, screamed and shouted, unable to keep calm any more.

“Don’t you want this war to end? Don’t you want all of this suffering to stop?” Because Hermione couldn’t believe that he didn’t want that.  He _had_ shown degrees of kindness to her that had shocked her, so maybe, just maybe there was some goodness in him somewhere, if only she could dig past the depravity.

“What the ‘ell makes yer think I want that?” Scabior seethed angrily at her now, still gripping the sofa, his need gradually subsiding as he got increasingly angry at the noisy witch. “Why would I wan’ all this to go away?” He asked, waving his arm idly. “I’m doin’ better now than before the war!”

Scabior watched as her eyes widened in surprise before narrowing again. “Why would I wan’ to go back to the way things were? I told yer before love… we ent all grown up in the life of luxury.”

Hermione scowled at him. Still furious, still feeling the heat between her legs as well as on her face, distracted by the wetness he had left in his finger’s wake. Good Godric, she hated him. Hated him with a passionate fury that overtook her. He wound her up more than Ron could ever do and had ever done, and she was _always_ angry at him.

“At last you show your true colours.” Hermione spat the words bitterly at him and he bristled slightly, intrigued by what more she could have to say to him. “A good man wouldn’t care for his own suffering. He would do what was right, even if it meant a loss for himself. He would do what was right for other people. You have the chance to really change something here, but you’re too damned Slytherin, too damned _selfish_ to see past the end of your own nose.”

Scabior blinked back at her, but she continued.

“Whilst we’re shut up in here, people out there are dying. For all I know they’re my friends… my family...” Scabior swallowed when he heard her throat clog up, her voice breaking slightly, preventing her from continuing for a moment. “If you had been a _good_ man, like you sometimes pretend to be, if you’d let me go, this may all be over by now, and all that death, all that suffering… it would be over.”

More blinking.

“And sure, I get it. I’m not stupid. The world isn’t perfect. There’s crime and poverty in the Wizarding World just as much as in the Muggle one. But how do you think You-Know-Who is going to clear that up? Do you really think he’ll bother? Whereas if we were to defeat him, to rebuild everything that is broken, if we were to rebuild our Wizarding society without prejudice and bias, then we could all work on fixing the poverty-stricken areas of this country. All the social injustices and the wrong doings of the elite and upper class. All you have to do… is let me go.”

Silence. After speaking for so long, about things that Hermione usually discussed daily and had been forced to be silent about, she suddenly felt revived, rejuvenated. She could convince him, persuade him to see sense.

But then there came the laughter.

The Snatcher’s cold, smooth, cruel laugh echoed around the cabin and his amusement rang clear as a bell. He seemed to be amused by her words, which made Hermione’s face burn red and her fists ball tightly again at her sides. That familiar feeling seeped into her skin, the one she would experience when met with Snape’s scorn and derision. That indignant sensation that flooded her heated skin as she was belittled and made to feel small.

“Oh dear Princess…” Scabior tried to breath out between chuckles. “You really ‘ave bin pampered.”

Hermione frowned at him as he wiped one of his eyes. She felt the bit of her nails in the skin of her hands as she unintentionally clenched her fists tighter, her knuckles almost white. The chuckling laughter of the Snatcher began to ebb away as he finally calmed himself before it died altogether.

“Yer spout a lot of ideals, love…” The Snatcher began, the amusement still present in his voice. His cold, piercing eyes turned on her again, ripping through her like a spear. “But you ent got a clue.” Hermione grit her teeth in frustration, so much so that her jaw began to ache.

“Then enlighten me.” Hermione managed to bite out the words between her teeth.

“I aint got time to explain big concepts t’ silly little girls.” The Snatcher replied briefly, his eyes full of derision, before he looked away and crossed his long legs out in front of him.

“That or you’re too ignorant to expound them.” Hermione bit back, her eyes burning with anger and conviction. He glanced back at her, eyes cold this time and holding a finality in them that struck her hard. Her teeth ground together then, almost audibly. What she’d said had struck a chord in him, she was sure.

“Don’t call me stupid.” The Snatcher warned, his voice suddenly darker, suddenly more dangerous. His glance invoked instinctive caution within her, made her more wary and aware. She could feel the distance between them on the tiny hairs that covered the skin of her arms. Felt her bones almost creak at the relative closeness. So, she said nothing but continued to glower at him.

Scabior felt as though his skull might split at the force in which she scowled at him, glaring daggers that pierced his sockets and burrowed back into his brain. He felt her hatred for him boring into his very pores and deep within his skin, bringing an inexplicable and annoying itch to the surface.

The venom that resided deep within him had risen up at her mention of the word ignorant. It tasted bitter in his mouth as he’d almost hissed his warning at her, sounding a lot less dangerous than he had expected, but it had the same intended result.

Scabior considered her words again, weighing his answer carefully.

_If we were to defeat him, to rebuild everything that is broken, if we were to rebuild our Wizarding society without prejudice and bias, then we could all work on fixing the poverty-stricken areas of this country. All the social injustices and the wrong doings of the elite and upper class. All you have to do… is let me go.”_

Let her go?

For some inexplicable reason the idea seemed quite preposterous to him. He almost sneered at her as he considered it, the reason why completely unfathomable. As for the rest of it, was she really that naïve? Because he knew that defeating the Dark Lord was out of the realm of possibility. He had experience fighting against the powerful in life and he’d learned the hard way about the impossibilities that came with those battles.

This was one fight her lot were never going to win. There was no black and white, right and wrong, there was only perspective. The world was composed of different shades of grey and he just happened to be the colour of slate. After all, when the triumph of darkness seemed inevitable, it was imperative that he chose the winning side. If he played his cards right, he could even come out on top. Why fight the hand that feeds you when the only other option was to starve? Didn’t she understand that this was necessary? So fundamentally crucial for him to survive? That word had been his goal for as long as he remembered; survive. Make sure you win. Just endure and survive. Self-preservation- and it had never failed him yet.

Finally, Scabior found the words to voice his thoughts.

“Yer think yer know everythin’ don’t yer?” Scabior sneered. “But yer don’t know a thing. Do yer really think that yer lot can overcome the most powerful dark wizard the world over ‘as ever seen? He’s got an army at ‘is back and what do yer lot ‘ave? A stupid little schoolboy. There is no beatin’ ‘im, love. That ship has sailed, long ago. Look around yer. He’s already won.” He spread his arms out as he glared back at her.

“Yer going to rebuild the wizardin’ world, when yer can’t even keep from getting’ caught in the woods? Besides, why would I betray my masters when they reward me with what I need?” Scabior’s smug smile tugged at his lips, watching her as she frowned back at him.

“You mean the men that beat you bloody?” Hermione said, cold and defiant.

Scabior snarled at that, remembering that fateful night when he had returned to her, beaten and bloody, the smell of copper in his nose and the taste of blood in his mouth.

“Those men hold all the power now, an’ you’d do well to remember that.” Scabior said to her. “I won’t pretend that things are perfect, but it’s a damn sight better than the outcome of some of your lot. I like livin’ thank yer very much.” He spat in annoyance. “As for lettin’ yer go, yer really think that little speech there would warm the cockles of my ‘eart and change my wicked ways?” He asked derisively, watching as her cheeks reddened.

“Did yer really think that a silly little girl in a pretty little dress would really ‘ave the power to sway me? Don’t flatter yourself, love.” The Snatcher sneered and Hermione had to fight to keep from shaking in both anger and humiliation.

For a long minute the two of them stared at each other, so many words unspoken, emotions roiling turbulently. The energy between that short distance cracked and stormy skies met raging fire, but eventually they relented into a tacit, dissatisfied silence and turned away from one another. 

  
                  *                  *                  *                  *

 

  
In the end Hermione had refused to cook the Snatcher’s dinner, thankful that she had cooked for herself and eaten at lunchtime. She demanded her night clothes back, with a quiet voice that threatened the swell and unleashing of louder, angry words should he deny her.

Hermione finally headed to the water closet, surprisingly not prevented by the flick of the Snatcher’s wand. In fact, once he had handed her the clothing he’d returned to the sofa, the flames of the fire apparently piquing his interest as he adamantly ignored her very presence.

Hermione began to get ready for bed, eventually pulling the dress he had forced her to wear from her body. She wanted to spit at it as it lay crumpled on the cold tiled floor. Hated the very sight of it, not for how it looked, but for what it represented. Her thighs rubbed together slightly, remembering how close she had come to her downfall. Because that was exactly what it would be- her undoing.

After spending as much time as she could in the water closet, dressed in only the cream top and burgundy jumper, the cold finally getting to her, she heaved a heavy sigh, her frown now possibly a permanent feature upon her brow. When she emerged, she glanced over and spotted the Snatcher sitting at the dining room table, eating a piping hot meal from a bowl. She ignored him just as fiercely as he did her in return.

It appeared that despite the breadth of unspoken words that spread between them, neither had anything left to say to the other.

Hermione refused to climb into the bed, uncaring how cold she would be. She curled up in a ball in front of the fire, hugging her knees and covering them with the long, cream top, her back to the Snatcher as he ate his own cooked meal at the table.  
  
The Snatcher ignored her for the rest of the night, silently walking around the cabin, getting on with his own affairs. Whatever they were. Hermione glanced back at him when he stopped in front of the sofa. She saw as he pulled his shirt off over his head, went to look away immediately but caught a glimpse of the scars and tattoos again before turning away.

_What had happened to him to make him that way?_  
  
Hermione felt more than saw as he stripped off his trousers, pulling on his usual jogging bottoms before he lingered in place hesitantly. Hermione turned her head almost imperceptibly and saw him out of the peripheral of her vision. He was looking at the kitchen window and the frost that had crept up along the glass. She turned her gaze from him quickly as his gaze turned on her.

Finally the Snatcher walked away from her, over to the kitchen window and pulled the curtains across, blocking the world outside from view. Not that she could see much of it in the darkness. He then turned and headed over to the far side of the room from her. He climbed into his bed, turning off the lamps with a flick of his wand, completely dismissing her existence.

_Circe, she was going to have to do something about that man._

But as Hermione sat, cast in the only light from the fire, the darkness seemed to seep in around her. Her thoughts turning back to the occurrence just hours before. She couldn’t deny that it would have been all too easy to fall into his touch. When he did those things to her, she almost wanted to forget all the wrong that he’d done, because Merlin help her, he made her feel so good; the way she shivered beneath his hungry gaze, the way her body throbbed at his touch.

The injustice of course, was that she had never been that way. Ever. She had always been, or at least tried to be, inherently good. She was the good girl her parents had always wanted her to be. She always based relationships purely on personality rather than looks and she had never… what was the term? _Lusted!_

Of course, she had looked at Ron a fair few times and wished that he would take the initiative to snog her silly, but she had never felt that tingling inside her before that this cruel man could produce from her just from his proximity.

Was that lust? Was that attraction? If so then what the hell was wrong with her? He had treated her horrendously! Sure, he had his moments of kindness, but that didn’t make up for what he had done… what he was _still_ doing.

Hermione sighed, feeling defeated, her body still aching with the throbbing remains of that intense feeling he had culminated within her.

She had never felt like that before.

                                    *                      *                      *                      *

 

Scabior was back home… back in that dark place. The place he hated. Fuck.

“You will never get a knut from me. Not ever!”

A familiar woman’s voice was shrieking.

“You are nothing but that woman’s whore. I took you in because it was my husband’s wish, because you are a Pureblood… But that means nothing to me. Nothing! Do you hear me? You will never see a sickle from me, nothing. You have nothing but your name. Now get out of my sight and out of my house before I have my boy’s set the dogs on you!”

That woman’s heartless, shrieking words.

But it wasn’t his fault!

Then the beatings. He was being pounded, four men pounding his body with their fists, their feet, sticks… with anything they could get a hold of. He could see the blood. The blood that they spoke so often about. It didn’t seem any different to him than that of the dead bird he had found a few days ago. It was no different from the blood running from his half-blood, half-brother’s nose.  
  
His mother wasn’t a whore. She wasn’t. But he couldn’t defend himself, let alone her. He was sorry.

_Sorry mum, sorry I couldn’t stop them! Sorry that they sullied your name! I’ll try harder mum. I promise. I don’t need them… I don’t need their money… I don’t need their… love…_

  
Hermione started at first, panicking at the sudden noise and movement. Her chin was resting on her knees and she must have unwittingly been about to drift off to sleep when there came a sudden noise from behind her.

At first her reaction was to stand, turning herself around, prepared to back away, but that was when she realized that the Snatcher was still in the bed. She stood there, squinting into the darkness, trying to work out what was happening. The Snatcher seemed to be tossing and turning under the blankets.  
  
_What was going on?_  
  
Without thinking Hermione walked precariously over to the bed.

“Hey.” She tried gently as she passed the sofa, because normally he woke up at much less than that. She neared the bed when he didn’t wake, creeping round the furthest end of it, her hands reaching out as she pondered whether or not to shake him awake.  
  
“Hey… hey wake up!” Hermione tried again, louder, but he was shouting in his sleep now, muffled and mumbled words that she didn’t understand. She caught the occasional murmur of what might have been the word blood but chose to ignore it.

“Scabior.”

His name felt strange on her tongue. Odd after not using it for so long. It left a strange taste in her throat.

Finally, Hermione reached out, her hand on his arm, about to shake him awake.

Hermione’s eyes widened suddenly as there was a loud bang and a flash of light.

_Oh Merlin._  
  
Scabior was panting, breathing heavy, too muddled and confused for a moment to make sense of anything. It had been a long time since that dream had taken a hold of him. He had his wand in his hand as he panted in the darkness, heard a noise on the other side of the bed, and then a sudden slumping noise as something hit the floor.  
  
“Lumos.” His voice seemed too loud in the silence of his hut. It was all too quiet after the screaming in his head.  
  
_Fuck._  
  
Scabior realized with an abrupt panging pain in his chest, that what had fallen from the bed had been the girl. That he had woken with his wand outstretched in the direction she had fallen.

“Fuck!” Scabior hurriedly clambered over the bed, dropping down beside her as he lit the lamps. Dread began to fill his lungs.  
  
“Fuck!”

The young woman slumped on the floor was unconscious and pale.

_What the hell had she been doing?! What had happened? Why the hell was she even near him right now? And why hadn’t he woken before she got that close?_  
  
“Shit.” He murmured another expletive as he bent down to lift her unconscious form onto the bed.  
  
Her jumper was wet.  
  
Despite the burgundy jumper, Scabior could see a darker stain rising through the fabric, staining his bed sheets. He swore again and again as he lifted the jumper and shirt up, seeing that he had hit the girl with a curse, point blank in the chest. He hurriedly tore the clothes from her form, murmuring to the girl, trying desperately to get her to wake up.  
  
Scabior’s wand traced the wounds that his curse had created as he recalled the only healing charms that he knew. _Crap. He had always scraped by with his mediocre healing skills and this wound was much more than mediocre. When he fired a hex he did it for one reason, self-preservation and it didn’t usually matter to him how wounded his adversary ended up._ __  
  
Fuck.

_*                      *                      *                      *_

It was nearly dawn when the half-naked girl lay on the bed, reasonably healed, nothing but red cuts on the skin of her chest now, compared to the deep and heavily bleeding gashes that had resided there before.

Scabior had removed her bra, not thinking, not really paying attention, but as he now moved to place the sheet over her, to keep her warm, he couldn’t help but admire her creamy white breasts. He scolded himself, because he truly was a monster. Look at all he had done to her, and still he was happy to be gazing at her half naked form!

No. Something had to give. Either she had to leave, or he had to change. Her actions the night before had proved that no matter what he did to her, she still stood tall and proud and noble. She wouldn’t give up. She wouldn’t give into him.

He could get rid of her… didn’t want to and yet did all the same.

He sank down on the floor beside the bed, watching over her as he leant back against the wall. Those charms had taken it out of him… He forced himself to stay awake. He had to watch over her. He had no excuses this time. This was all his fault.

It was clear to him now that her earlier words had reminded him of the past, one that had not treated him kindly. His nightmare had been so haunting, so suffocating that he wondered what it must have taken for her to have even been able to wake him up.

Scabior looked at the form of the unconscious young woman on the bed. Curly, soft hair, dark eyelashes and rosy lips. He was ruining her, and not in the way he had planned. She would have a scar on her chest now, probably for life. Just above her heart, stretching down into the middle of her chest.

What had he done?

  
                  *                  *                  *                  *

  
Hermione’s head felt heavy, like she had been drugged or tortured by Bellatrix again.  
  
_Where was she?_

The image of the Hogwart’s Hospital Wing filled her mind. Maybe she was there. Maybe she had been hit by a rogue bludger whilst watching Quidditch practise? Maybe she had been victim to one of the twin’s joke produce whilst she was doing her Head Girl rounds?  
  
…Maybe…  
  
But when Hermione opened her eyes she was disappointed. Seeing the unfamiliar ceiling brought everything back and she had to ignore the watering of her eyes.

It seemed to take such effort to turn her head to the side. Her neck hurt as well as her head… and why was her body so heavy? Through bleary vision she made out the form of the Snatcher and confusion filled her. The Snatcher was sleeping, but he was sat on the floor, his back against the wall, whilst _she_ was lying in his bed.  
  
Hermione moved her hands, tried to push herself up and failed. The blanket slipped, revealing her bare chest and a red wound that stretched from over her heart and down in between her breasts.  
  
_What?_  
  
The young woman was looking down at the wound, staring at it when his eyes snapped open, suddenly aware of her movements. Her pert breasts were revealed where the blanket had slipped, his eyes travelled over them, but settled on her eyes, on her blank face.  
  
He had done that to her. He had left her with that mark, that scar… it was all his fault.  
  
“I’m sorry.”

Hermione started at the sudden sound of his voice, then let out a whimper of pain. The slightest amount of movement made her want to cry out. What had hex had he hit her with? Because the last thing she remembered was trying to wake him from his nightmare. She remembered the bang, the flash of light and then nothing other than the sensation of falling backwards, into darkness.  
  
Hermione whimpered again as her arms burned at the simple motion of pulling the blankets up to her neck, covering her half-naked form. The Snatcher was looking up at her with tired, heavy eyes. Not as cold as they had been the night before.

“I’m sorry.” The Snatcher’s voice was croaky as he repeated his statement, like he’d been up late.

“You did this.” Hermione stated, more for clarification than anything else.

“Yeh.” Scabior replied, because there was no point in not answering her. It was him. He had done it.

Hermione began to nod in acknowledgment, before it hurt too much and she stopped.  
  
“What did you hit me with?” Hermione found that her voice was torn, like she had been screaming.  
  
“It’s a form of the Lacero curse… a darker form of it.”  
  
That much she had deduced for herself.  
  
Scabior looked over at her… his chest hurting. He felt such a fool for how scared he had felt during the night. She had regained consciousness once, whilst he was healing her. She had done nothing but cry out in pain and struggle to get away. He had held her down, saying sorry over and over and over again. The tears had run down her face as he tried to heal her… tried to stop the bleeding… and even now he still had her blood on his hands.  
  
The young woman’s eyes had been so full of fear. So much worse than when she had screamed out, tortured by Lestrange. It was so much worse to witness it. In the end he had done all he could, stroking her hair, trying to comfort her as he had when he treated the injury on her arm.  
  
Scabior had let her cling to his arm, her nails digging in, scratching him mercilessly as she tried to push her from him, only making her own wounds worse. In the midst of all the pain, she had seen him as her torturer. She thought he was causing more pain rather than trying to stop it. He hoped she wouldn’t remember. _Really_ hoped she wouldn’t recall what had happened. He never wanted her to look at him like that again.

“What was happening?” The Granger girl questioned suddenly, looking at his blood covered hands.  
  
“What?” He questioned, confused.  
  
“What was happening in your dream?”

Scabior stared at her. Things that no one knew about relived themselves in the depths of his sleep. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, it haunted him. But as he looked up at her, remembered her face as she screamed up at him to stop… he owed her at least an explanation, that and he was too tired to argue.  
  
“My past.” The Snatcher murmured, surprising her. Hermione had thought he would refuse to answer. That he would tell her it was none of her business.

“My mother had an affair with a married man…” The Snatcher began to explain, looking physically and mentally exhausted. “I’m a Pureblood, but my mum got sick, so I was taken in by my father and his actual wife… who happened to be Half-blood.” Things began to make sense to her. Of course, he would be hated by that woman, by her family. “It… caused problems.”

“I’m sorry.” She murmured, making him look up at her in alarm.

“What?” He exclaimed bluntly.

“I’m sorry.” Hermione breathed, feeling tired again. “That must have been awful.”

Why the hell she was apologising was beyond her. She was the one lying injured in his bed and still she felt sorry for him.

Silence… one that lingered before Scabior found himself once more.

“I don’t want your pity love. I owed yer an explanation… that’s all you need t’ know.”

But Hermione’s eyes were closing again, too heavy for her to keep open.

“Go back to sleep.” Scabior murmured to her, shrugging off the guilt.

What was with that girl? She had apologized, pitied him for his childhood, and just after he had attacked her. Was that purity? Was that innocence? Because he’d never known anyone else like it.

 

 

 

 

  
A/N: A no smut chapter I’m afraid, but I’m like that… my porn has plot  xxxxx

 


	22. First-Aid and Desire

New A/N: Had a very busy couple of days but working hard to get you all more updates x Please let me know what you’re thinking of the fic in the comments. x

  
Original A/N: Hey guys, so sorry it's been a while. I'm a lil nervous and conscientious about this chapter so please be gentle and please let me know what you think? xxx

** Disclaimer: **  I just wanted to let people know that I am personally all about consent. I've edited this chapter ever so slightly to make it a little less dubious, however I can compartmentalise the difference between fantasy and real life. So, although this is the kind of fic I enjoy writing I just wanted to add this disclaimer to express where I stand on the subject but also as an added trigger warning. 

 

Email: Gryffindorgirl2010@hotmail.co.uk  
Tumblr: http://gryffindorgirl7777.tumblr.com/

 

Songs:

Falling Apart- Michael Shulte  
Silence Looks Good on You- Rachel Taylor  
Widowmaker- Night Argent  
Armor- Landan Austin

  
**Chapter Twenty-Two**

**  
First-Aid and Desire**

 

  
When Hermione woke again, it was to the smell of food. Her eyelids flickered, lighter than they had been last time she opened them. Brightness blinded her at first before she blinked, and her eyes adjusted to it. Immediately her eyes fell to the place the Snatcher had been sitting last time she was conscious, but he was no longer there. Next her eyes fell to her chest, checking that her body was covered by the blanket.

Hermione’s body still hurt like hell, but she was able to sit herself up this time. That was when she saw the Snatcher, standing over at the stove, stirring a pot. She watched silently as he stilled before turning his head slightly to look at her. His eyes met hers as she stared back, mute. Then he dropped the wooden spoon he was stirring the pot with and was turning to busy himself with something on the kitchen countertop. The same one he had forced her down upon the night before.

Hermione closed her eyes again for a moment, her body aching and tired. When she opened them again, she was met with a surprising sight. The Snatcher was heading towards her with a tray. Upon which she could see at least a cup, jug, bowl and a white bundle.

“Here.” Scabior said as he settled the tray down on the floor beside the bed, looking at the bed and wondering if he could sit on it without starting a scene. In the end he decided to risk it.

Hermione stared at him as he sank down onto the bed facing her, forcing her eyes to remain open.

“I made yer some food.” Scabior gestured to the bowl upon the tray. He watched as she turned her deadened eyes from his and looked at the bowl suspiciously.

“No thanks.” Hermione murmured, turning her head to look away from him.  
  
“Look love, I did warn yer…” Scabior began.

“About what?” The Granger woman hissed; her hard eyes were on him again.

“’Bout wakin’ me.” Scabior said gently, reaching a hand up to brush a curl of hair from her face. She flinched, wincing in pain from the motion and Scabior lowered his hand slowly, feeling that sickening guilt wash over him again. She was so afraid of him.

“Don’t touch me.” Her voice was quiet, a bit of a hiss and drenched in bitterness.

They sat in silence, not looking at one another. Everything was too quiet, too still and nothing was right. Not one damn thing about the situation was right. Hadn’t been right from the very start. But this… this was worse than not right.

Hermione stared down at the blood-stained sheets, at the wound that had reopened slightly whilst she slept. All that blood and all of it hers. All of it dried on the white sheets, looking darkened and brown- muddy. She glanced down at her arm, saw the dark pink, healing skin that stood out sharply on her pale white skin. _Mudblood._  
  
“You have to eat.”

Scabior was the first to break the silence, still quiet, still not looking at her. Eyes to the floor, still sitting moments from her, and still, he couldn’t get close. Wasn’t sure he wanted to, because all he felt was guilt. Guilty and responsible for the wretchedness that seemed to coat her skin now. He felt it, coming from her in waves; the despondency and despair.

“I’m too tired.” She mumbled in reply, her voice softer this time. Her reply was evidence of how exhausted she was. Too tired to snap, to shout, to argue. Just too damn tired… of the whole damn thing.

Scabior moved, making her flinch again as he neared her. He stilled beside her, his eyes meeting hers again, something aching painfully inside his chest. That resounding thud as his eyes bore into hers and saw that the flames had dwindled, only embers remained there, making her eyes look oddly blank and deadened.

Hermione stilled as she realized that the Snatcher was merely reaching down to the tray for the food he had cooked.

_Good. Let him eat it. It’s probably poisoned anyway._

But hadn’t she already succumbed to his own particular toxin? Wasn’t she already too far gone, too awash in whatever it was that flooded from him in waves and set her skin on fire? She’d been breathing him in for so long now after all, expiring slowly and torturously beneath his skin.

Hermione looked away, hearing him blow on whatever food was on the spoon. Her fingers gripped weakly to the blanket that covered her as she frowned at the other side of the room, doing all she could to block him out, to try and avoid the feeling of his eyes on her skin. Because his eyes burned with a bright coldness, those ice-storm eyes, that left her very insides scorched.

“Here.”

Hermione turned, and seeing sudden movement not far from her face, she flung her arm out in surprise.

The spoon fell to the floor with a loud clatter that seemed to reverberate around the cabin, but Scabior didn’t take his eyes from her. First her eyes were closed tight, afraid. Slowly killing him with her mistrust. Not that he could blame her.

Hermione opened her eyes slowly, her hands still up before her to defend herself. For a horrible, split moment of a second she had feared the motion the Snatcher had made towards her had been his wand. Her mind had flashed back to the night before, remembering unwittingly the second her hand had reached his arm. He had moved so quickly, too fast for her to do anything. Her breath had caught in her throat, her cry stilled before she could unleash it. She’d been unable to do anything, except feel and fall.

Hermione’s eyes widened in confusion as she opened them, noting that he had stilled.  
  
With a heavy sigh, Scabior’s eyes still on hers as they looked up to question him, he flicked his wand, watching her obligatory flinch. Tasting ashes on his tongue and a jarring in his chest.  
  
The kitchen drawer opened, a clean spoon levitating to him as an unfair, unjust, bitter thought crossed his mind.

_Nothing but the best for the princess._

He knew it wasn’t right, that it was cruel. Somewhere deep down he knew he was blaming her for this feeling that was drowning him, the disgrace and the remorse, all twisted up and contorted with regret. But also knew that he was at fault. That rational part of his mind that still continued to tick, even around the Granger girl, was screaming his culpability at him.  
  
As he repeated his earlier actions, blowing on the hot soup and ignoring the splatters of it now covering him from where she had batted the spoon away, he began to wonder if it was really was resentment that he felt towards the girl. She had everything after all. He had nothing. Nothing but his Pure Blood status, the only thing about him that was clean- his blood. But despite the purity running through his veins, he had nothing, nothing but her now and she had everything, and yet she was a Mudblood.

Hermione stilled, still glaring at him as he blew on the spoon.

_What was he doing? What was he playing at?_  
  
The Snatcher was offering to feed her now, reaching out the spoon to her lips. She clamped her lips together, finding it all a bit too familiar. Although they were no longer in his apartment, her tied to a chair, the only difference was the location… and the searing wound in her chest.  
  
“What are you doing?” Hermione seethed through gritted teeth, barely parting her lips in refusal.

Scabior sighed again, lowering the spoon.

“Did I not say that I won’t let yer starve?” Scabior asked, trying to remain patient, something he was used to, something he was actually good at. Just not around this woman.

Scabior would hide for hours when tracking, he was an expert. He could press himself against the trunk of a tree, sat high in its branches as he waited, either for prey or for victims. But something about this woman, this… Mudblood, made him lose all sense of human decency. She made him impatient, desperate, needy… wanting.

“I won’t eat it…” Hermione bit out. “I won’t let you feed me… I don’t care how much dignity I’ve lost; you’re not taking the rest of it.”

A terrible churning in his chest again as her head turned again, her eyes burning a hole into the opposite wall. Scabior grit his teeth, grinding them, trying to keep his temper in check.  
  
True, it had been his fault. But could she not see that he was trying to make amends for it? That he was attempting to make reparations, at least in his own twisted, fucked up kind of way.

“Fine,” Scabior pulled his wand from his pocket again, watching her eyes widen slightly as she caught a glimpse of it in her peripheral before she pretended not to care.

“I’ll use the Imperio curse to make you eat…” Scabior let his words sink in, seeing her eyes widen. “and maybe to make you do a few other things.” he added, because he was still a bastard, still a Slytherin, and if this was the only way to make her compliant, then he’d lie through his teeth in order to make her eat.  He let his heavily suggestive words sink in, as he pretended to assess her body.

Scabior’s head was cocked to one side, and his eyes were gazing at the shape of her body beneath the bedsheets. He didn’t need to pretend he wanted her. It came so naturally to him now, like it had always been that way… and maybe it always had.

“You piece of…”  
  
“Ah-ah-ah!” The Snatcher wagged his finger at her as she bit her lower lip to keep from screaming obscenities at him. She let a low growl roll from her chest, her eyes burning, before he pulled the spoon from the bowl again, not feeling the need to blow and cool it first this time.

The glare the Granger girl gave him was dark, dark and defiantly furious, but he let it pass without comment as he pressed the spoon between her ripe, red lips, helping her to eat the soup he had prepared for her.

Hermione groaned as she shifted position in the bed a couple of times, as he fed her. The pain too much to let her move, to let her do more than let him feed her. It was infuriating. Enough to make her blood boil, but even anger made her sore, made her tired, completely drained her. She wanted to lie down, to go straight back to sleep again. But he kept her awake, loudly snapping at her as soon as her eyes drooped, making her jerk awake. Soon she was too tired to sit up and eat. Whatever curse he had hit her with, it had taken everything out of her.  
  
“Sit forward.”

Hermione couldn’t even do as he instructed and couldn’t move a muscle to fight against him as he suddenly moved, positioning her on the bed so that he could sit behind her. She cried out in pain, and again when he pulled her gently back against him. She was laying back, her back against his chest as he reached round for the soup again.

“Come on.”

His voice was surprisingly soft, too soft and gentle. But oddly she obeyed, opening her mouth and swallowing the soup, trying not to consider what meat it may contain or how he had gone about getting it.

However, exhaustion enveloped her, her head falling back against his shoulder unwittingly, the scent of him surrounding her.  
  
“Just eat a bit more.”

The Snatcher tried to press her. Made her want to scream at the sudden tenderness and care he was exhibiting. It was too much. Too much in contrast with the events of the previous night. How he’d forced her down and tormented her, how she’d screamed herself hoarse at him. But her eyelids were too heavy, and she was too tired to fight him.  
  
“I can’t.” Hermione’s murmur was quiet. Too quiet and weak sounding for her liking. But she had no choice in the matter.

In moments the Granger girl was asleep again, and Scabior was sat back against the head of the bed, her back pressed against him. He overlooked the smooth, toned globes of her arse that was pressed between his legs. He tried to ignore her intoxicating scent, knowing that he already couldn’t, was already drowning in whatever poison she was laced with.

Scabior looked down at her, trying to ignore how the bed cover was only just covering the mounds of her breasts and how her nipples were peaked from the cold beneath the blanket he had wrapped around her. He pulled the blanket up higher, gently enfolding her in his arms in the vain hope of warming her up. He sat there silently, listening to her breathing, watching the way her chest rose and fell. He stroked soft tendrils of her hair from her face, her cheek feeling warmer each time he stroked his rough fingers across it.

They were from different worlds. He had never seen anyone so pure and good and she had probably never met anyone as monstrous as him. He couldn’t keep doing this. He wasn’t a fool. He could see how much he was destroying her. He had seen the desolation left by him, burning brightly on her chest. Crimson red on creamy white.

Something had to give.

*                      *                *                      *

 

When Scabior startled awake it surprised him that he had fallen asleep at all. The young woman that had fallen asleep on him was whimpering, pushing his arms from her and attempting to sit up.

“What’re yer doing?” Scabior questioned gruffly, his voice a little croaky from sleep.  
  
“Getting- away- from- you.” The Granger girl murmured back, bitingly. She was groaning in pain between every word.  
  
“Don’t be an idiot… Now look. You’ve ripped the wound open again.” Scabior growled agitated at her, pointing at the blood on her chest that was beginning to seep through the blanket she was clinging to.

“I- don’t- care.” The girl bit back venomously, her teeth clenched.

“Just sit still a minute.” Scabior growled at her, reaching down to the tray on the floor beside the bed.

Hermione glanced at the white bundle in his hands, trying to ignore the pain as she moved but loosing hopelessly against it.

“Lean against me an’ let go of the blanket.” Scabior instructed, still sounding gruff but trying hard to keep his temper in check.  
  
“No.”  
  
But the tears were threatening to spill as Hermione clung desperately to the blanket, having no strength to stop him from wrapping one hand round her wrist as the other hand pulled the blanket away from her. She scrambled instantly, clenching her legs together, the red underwear the only thing covering her, other than her free arm, which he was currently trying to prise away from her chest.

“Jus’ put your arms down will yer?” Scabior growled into her ear, his chest pressed against her back as he wrestled with her, winning because she was so much weaker than before.  
  
“No.” Hermione sobbed, because this was the worst. Letting him see her like this and that closeness, the feeling of his skin on hers, that proximity was stifling.

“I’m tryin’ to help yer.” Scabior growled, pulling at the white bundle of bandages with his teeth as he tried to move her arm from her chest, unable to hold both of her wrists and the bandages in one go. In an act of desperation and using her weakness to his advantage, he swiftly wrapped the bandages around her wrists, tying them together before using his wand to sever and secure the end of it.

“Stop it!” Hermione cried out in fear, unsure as to what he was doing and why.

“Shut up.” He mumbled, concentrating on the bundle of bandages again.

Holding one end of the bandage in place he began to carefully wrap the bandages around her chest, pushing her gently to sit up, her body half-collapsed back onto his. He tried to ignore the softness of her skin as his knuckles brushed against her breasts.

Hermione sobbed at first, before falling silent, too tired to cry and realizing that he was doing nothing but wrapping the bandages across her wounds. She tried to ignore that coil of tension deep in her stomach, the one that hitched every time his skin brushed against hers.

It was hard to ignore her, to ignore the pink flush of embarrassment on her cheeks. To ignore the way she refused to look at him as he wrapped the bandages tightly around her, trying to ignore the heat in his groin as his fingers brushed lightly against one of her nipples.

Hermione tried to hold in the whimper, but it was unavoidable. Whether he heard it or not, she didn’t know, but he seemed not to react to it and that she could be thankful for.

Scabior tried not to react to it but felt his groin hitch at the sound that escaped her rosy red lips. Her skin seemed more flushed now, much less pale. His hand pressed against her side as the other one wrapped the bandages around and around her chest, hiding the nasty wound from view. Like he could hide his shame and remorse if he was careful enough.  
  
Hermione’s breath hitched again as his thumb stroked her side, lightly at first before his whole hand began to stroke up and down it, stroking over the white bandages and the small expanse of skin at her waist that wasn’t now covered.

Hermione hated him; there was no doubt in her mind of how much she hated him. The amount of anger and hatred of him was bigger than anything she’d held inside her before. She hated him more than Umbridge, more than Malfoy and dare she say even more so than Voldemort?  
  
So why then did he make her feel like this? With just the smallest brush of his skin against hers, he had her holding her breath, both wishing and wanting him to do it again, whilst simultaneously never wanting him to touch her again.

Scabior flicked his wand behind her back, didn’t want to watch her flinch again. He sealed the bandages together to hold it all in place. On top of it he placed a waterproof and germ-proof charm to keep the wound clean.

But Scabior was struggling to breath, because every time he did so he breathed her in.

The Snatcher’s lips pressed against the bare skin of her shoulder, she was shivering, lips parted, eyes closed in fearful, tingling anticipation.

_Hermione Granger what are you thinking? Look at what he’s just done to you!_

But as he inhaled deeply beside her neck the voice was almost drowned out. She had to move, had to do something to stop this.

 “Please don’t.”  
  
A murmur, a weak one. One that was almost begging Scabior to continue. Perhaps he could carry on the game? Perhaps he would act the monster that she believed him to be?

The Snatcher slid out from under her and she breathed a sigh of relief as she flumped back softly against the pillows, believing him to have pity on her for once. She held her bound wrists up to him, in order for him to unbind them, but he was staring at her, his eyes penetrating and darkened.

Hermione knew that look. It made her clench her legs together slightly, trying to reach for the blankets without ripping her chest open any further. But he was too quick for her. He tore the blanket away and was on all fours over her in seconds, looking at her like a wolf would a rabbit.

“What are you doing?” Hermione held his gaze as she spoke, trying not to show the mix of fear and exhilaration that was tingling from her hair roots to her toes.

Scabior stared at her, his mouth watering at how ripe her lips were, at how creamy and soft her skin was… at how beautiful she was. The words that fell from his mouth were lost on him.

As lost on him as they were on her as she failed to understand.  
  
“Apologising.”  
  
Before Hermione could open her mouth to reply, his lips were pressed against hers as she went to cry out, frowning at him. But she couldn’t fight back, all she could do was try and push her bound hands against his firm chest. Her fingers pressed against an old leather black waistcoat, before trying to scratch at him over the black shirt he wore beneath it. But this was met with a rumbling growl that rose from deep in his chest.

Hermione hated him but hated herself more for the way her body felt beneath him. For the way she gave up the fight all too soon and let him slide his hot wet tongue inside her mouth. She nipped at his tongue, about to bite down on it before his hand was at her neck. Whether it was a warning or not, she didn’t wait to find out, she merely let her teeth gently drag across his tongue, unwilling to cross him again.

But his hand didn’t grasp her neck threateningly; his hand stroked her skin gently, his coarse knuckles brushing lightly along her pulse point before he lifted his lips from hers to gently kiss along her collar bone.  
  
“Don’t.”  
  
But what could she do? What could she say or do to make him stop, when her eyes were closing of their own accord? His tongue darted out against her pulse point before he sucked her skin in gently, wet heat on her pulsing skin.

Hermione tried to keep her lips clamped together, to keep scratching and pushing against him. But nothing stopped him from placing those irresistible kisses across her skin. His hands stroked down her shoulders, down her arms and down to her bound wrists where she still naively hoped that he would unbind her.

  
He didn’t.  
  
Moving the woman’s bound hands above her head, Scabior looked around distractedly for something to tie them to the bedpost. She seemed to realize his intentions and began to wriggle beneath him as he straddled her hips, making the want and the need so much desperately worse.

Scabior’s eyes caught on the bundle of bandages again. That would do. All it took was a flick of his wand- an obligatory flinch from her- and a strip of the white material had bound her to the head of the bed.  
  
“Don’t.” Hermione warned again. But it didn’t have enough conviction for her liking.  
  
“Yer don’t have t’ pretend yer don’t like the way I make yer feel.” The Snatcher’s voice was a murmured whisper as he kissed, so lightly, so gently across her bandaged breasts.

“I don’t…” Hermione began but lost her words and lost her way as his kisses dipped lower, his hands skimming down her sides so lightly and with a tenderness that made her feel that he could almost be a completely different person.

She wasn’t stupid, she knew it was all biological, all physiological. Her body was reacting to his touch. That was all… that was all.

But when the Snatcher’s eyes gazed up at her, his hands sliding slowly over her hips and down her thighs as he moved down her body, the look in his eyes made her gasp. It made her body still and, despite herself, made her wet.  
  
Hermione could see the want, the need, the desire in those clear, icy grey eyes, the blue so light and so cold that it made her shiver to look at them. They were storm clouds out at sea, a ferociousness within them that had her heart beating almost painfully hard against her chest. With the storms themselves came the electricity in the air, which set her skin alight. He wanted her, and no one had ever looked at her like that before. No one had ever made her skin sing like he had done.

Hermione hated him still, there was no denial there, but no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t get her body to hate his touch. She wanted her skin to crawl as it had before. She didn’t want to fight this war within herself as his rough fingertips traced towards the inside of her thighs. But then she was struggling and writhing against him again as he slowly prised her legs apart with his hands, his lips kissing lower down her body. His tongue dipping, lapping at her navel.

“Stop it!” Hermione shrieked at him. Abandoning every sensible and methodical thought she had as she tried to sit up, blood seeping and soaking across the white bandages.

“Tell me that you’re mine an’ I’ll stop.”

Hermione’s heart stopped racing, just for that one moment, leaving her chest feeling almost empty and vacuous. The Snatcher’s words an echo from the night before.  
  
That feral smirk was back on his face as the Snatcher smiled up at her from between her legs. His long, wild and untamed hair tickled across her thighs as he waited there, eyes blazing, waiting for her to relent. But she waited too long without saying a word, her brain ticking loudly inside her head, her lips parted as she stared down at him.

The Snatcher was giving her an out. All she had to do was say those words. But she wouldn’t say them, and that wolf-like grin on his face as his stubbled chin brushed against the delicate skin of her thigh told her that he knew. He knew all along that she’d never utter them to him. Not even to stop this. Not even now.

Too suddenly she was gasping loudly, his tongue sliding slowly and deliberately up her inner thigh.

“No.” she whimpered, trying to ignore the trail of his wet, hot tongue on the inside of her thigh. Because she would never admit that, was never going to let him use that over her.  
  
“Then do yer even _really_ want me t’ stop?”

It wasn’t a question however, and Hermione could feel his wet, hot breath ghosting against the lace of her underwear, the underwear he’d brought her. She was trying to clench her legs together, too weak against his hands as he held them open. Trying to ignore the resounding wail from within her head.

_You can’t want this. He’s the enemy. You can’t want this._

But it was so hard not to drown that voice out. Too easy to close her eyes and just sink into the sensations he was causing.

_Can’t want this... The enemy… Can’t._  
  
Scabior was inches away from her centre now and drowning in her scent. Intoxicated, delirious and crazed by it as his tongue lapped at her skin. And it only left him wanting more. He licked up the inner thigh of her opposite leg, teasing, watching as she squirmed beneath him. He was vaguely aware, at the back of his head, of the sordidness of it all. The insanity. That he was on his knees, silently begging- please don’t say those words. Because he needed this. Like an addict he needed that taste to wash over him once more, and now he was so close, drowning in sin.

“Please don’t…” The Granger woman’s breath came out more as a pant, too quick and desperate. But again, she didn’t say those words, despite the reprieve Scabior had offered her. She refused to say them, and that refusal in itself was all he needed to hear. He was too far-gone.

The Snatcher’s tongue darted out and Hermione cried out despite the hating, despite the self-loathing as her body jolted at the feel of wet heat over lace. She tried to ignore the intimacy of it all, but her body reacted viscerally. It came alive as his tongue stroked over wet, lace-clad skin and for a few moments, beneath that wet heat of his tongue, she began to melt away, forgetting why she should even care about hate in the first place.

The Granger woman was still struggling against her bonds, still refusing to submit to him, as Scabior knew she would. But as his tongue tasted that vanilla-laced sweetness at the apex of her legs for the first time, he was completely okay with that, this was enough- just this taste.  
  
The Granger woman whimpered at him as he peeled her dampened underwear to the side, revealing the soft, pink flesh beneath them. She tried to pull against her bindings, causing nothing but further injury to herself which made him stop and fix his gaze upon her face until she stilled, glaring at him, eyes red-hot, despising him for this.

“Please…” Hermione breathed again- not enough conviction- sounding too much like she needed him to continue rather than to stop. But before she could say anything further his finger slid along her folds, making her legs buckle and her eyes close as she cried out.

“So sensitive.” Scabior barely breathed into her, before sliding his finger slowly inside her, watching as she moaned out so spectacularly before his tongue was darting out again. He curled his finger in a come-hither motion, brushing the inside of her wet, silken walls and observed as her back arched off the bed, a loud moan slipping from between her lips. His tongue licked between her folds, circling and sucking at her clit hungrily and making her cry out. Making himself harder still.

Because he’d been hard since he started but now the cabin was echoing with her moans of pleasure, making his groin hitch, making him harder. He ignored it. Put it from his mind because finally he was there, at that juncture of her thighs, his tongue dipping into her core and soaking with her own special brand of poison. Now he’d started, now that she was writhing and mewling before him, he couldn’t see how he could stop. How he could _ever_ stop, as he made her moan over and over again.

Hermione’s wrists were raw, and she was still fighting him, still trying to clamp her legs together, only to clamp them tightly around his head. But her toes were curled tight, pressed against the bedding as his wet, hot mouth tortured her and his finger curled inside her, rubbing against her inner walls, eliciting sensations that she had never felt before. She was sure for a delirious second that she was on fire, heated blood rushing beneath her skin. Her fringe stuck to her forehead, a light sheen of sweat coating her brow as she continued to thrash beneath him.

As the Snatcher slid another finger inside her, his ministrations inexplicable to her, she cried out loudly again. Kept biting down on her bottom lip to try and keep from calling out, kept her eyes closed as she tried to forget who was doing these wonderfully cruel things to her.

_The enemy… The enemy… I can’t…_

But the Snatcher didn’t let up, wouldn’t let her come up for air as he continued his torturous attentions. She was drowning in him, in those sensations, her brain fragmenting as she struggled to remember to breathe. His fingers curled and rubbed her inner walls as he carefully nipped at her folds, teeth barely grazing the wet and delicate skin there. He wound that coil inside her tighter and tighter until she couldn’t bear it anymore.

“Stop.” Hermione cried sharply from above him, her back arching again before she fell back to the bed in pain from the wound that had coated the white bandages in red.

_Please stop… no... Not the enemy… I can’t…_

But her inner voice had long since lost the battle against the Snatcher’s talented tongue. Hemione was too lost in the delirium. In the travesty of it all. Lost to the pleasure that mingled with the pain. With every gesture he provoked another wave of wanting, of needing. She was standing on the precipice, knowing that she was close.

Scabior knew she was close. He could taste it, feel it as those slick, wet walls clamped down around his fingers. Could feel it vibrating from her trembling form around him. Her skin was hot, and flushed and every time his eyes glanced up, saw her writhing and moaning, he felt a heavy wave of desire and hunger crashing down on him. He was drunk on her, hopelessly and desperately in need of more.

Needed to see her come undone for him.

Scabior’s tongue circled her clit once more, his fingers delving in and out of her tight, wet, heat, feeling her clamp down around him as he lapped at her, tasted her sweetness and sucked at her clit once again. He could almost feel her urgency now, knew that she was standing on that edge and this time he fully intended on driving her over it.

_The enemy… The enemy…._

But Hermione’s inner voice was completely drowned out by the waves of heated passion, an urgency and desperation flooding her body as that coil tightened so deliciously within, the sensations building into a crescendo. In that split second before she tumbled from the edge of the cliff and into the abyss, she barely had time to think.

_No…_

And yet…

_Yes._

As Scabior’s tongue lashed out across her clit once more, sucking on the pearly bead, he felt her legs stiffen around his ears, her inner walls clamped down and convulsed as he pushed her from that high up precipice and watched her as she tumbled.

His eyes never left her, his tongue still dancing against her, trying to draw out her climax for as long as possible. His eyes were glued to her face, her eyes closed, head thrown back. Dark lashes fluttered and her lips parted in a beautiful circular shape as she let out an almost guttural moan. One that he felt tug at the hardened organ in his pants. It only added to the high he felt as he lapped at her juices, still refusing to stop his tongue’s ministrations.

She looked beautiful. So fucking jaw-droppingly beautiful.

Hermione could barely breath, could barely work out where pleasure ended, and she began. Her limbs felt so heavy all of a sudden and all that blessed tension had dissipated, giving way to the waves of pleasure that made her body tingle. She thought she’d found a moment to catch her breath, sucking it in as her chest heaved, but as soon as she had reached her climax, spilling over the edge of it, the Snatcher began again, making her moan and cry and hate all over again.

Hermione hated him. Hated herself and hated her very body for coming undone so easily for him. But the hate didn’t stop him from continuing to lap at her skin, from grazing her thighs with his teeth, his fingers never stopping as he found more and more ways to elicit those pleasurable moans from between her lips.

“Stop.” Hermione sobbed, having climaxed three times and still he refused to stop.

“Admit that you’re mine.” The Snatcher said, voice low and gravelly as he murmured it against her leg, her knee bent up as he held it, kissing the side of her knee and stroking underneath it.

“I hate you.” Hermione wailed, as she closed her eyes again, lingering in that blazing darkness as he tormented her with his touch.  
  
Scabior felt drunk on her, and his raging need and hunger was still there, but there had been something so stunning and compelling about the way she looked as she came undone beneath him that his own need had become a background noise. He was desperate now only to hear that wild and desperate moan that slipped between her lips as she reached oblivion. The way she let go, toes curling, moaning wildly, freely, her skin flushed with passion that had him transfixed. And he only wanted to see it again.

“Just say it.” Scabior murmured, having no idea why the words would have any importance to him anymore. No idea why he half-begged to hear them. “Just say that yer belong to me.”

“I will _never_ admit that.” Hermione’s eyes were wet, wet from the last time she had climaxed, so hard that tears fell from her eyes as she wondered if maybe she’d died amidst the bliss.

“Then you’d better not expect t' sleep any tonight.”

  
And at those gruff words his lips were on her again, making her cry out into the dim light of the hut. Desperate for it to end… and desperate for more.

 

 

 

 

 

  
A/N: Nervous and shaking in my boots. Please let me know what you think? x

 


	23. Insanity

[](https://imgur.com/7q7j2yE)

 

New A/N: Heeeeey. So, I’ve been super busy but here’s an update for you. I hope I’m still generating enough interest with this fic. I’m a very anxious writer nowadays. I never used to be. I hope it’s okay and that you’re still enjoying the fic

  
Original A/N: Ohmigawsh! Yesh I know, I know! It has been forever since an update.  I'm a terrible, terrible person who seeks nothing but your forgiveness :P And a terribly busy person now-a-days, which is AMAZING for me, especially comparing how bad I was last year to this year. So, I do apologise, but I am continuing with my fanfic updates, it just isn't going to be as regularly as before I'm afraid :( I have also been working on my original story, which when it's done, I'd love for you guys to let me know what you think :) I have a lot of love for you guys, especially those of you who have taken time out to review and to email me. >_< It keeps me in high spirits with this fic :) So thank you for the love guys. 

  
Email: Gryffindorgirl2010@hotmail.co.uk  
  
Tumblr: http://gryffindorgirl7777.tumblr.com/  
  
A special thanks to Snatchergirl who got me through writing this chapter and also got a preview. :P   I hope it's still up to scratch guys and as always please let me know what you think? >_<    HOLIDAY LOVE!

Songs

Devil May Cry- The Weekend  
(If you have any suggestion songs, I’d love to hear them.)

 

CURRENTLY NOT BETA-READ

  
**Chapter Twenty-Three**

  
**Insanity.**

 

Hermione’s arms ached. It was her first conscious thought that morning before she felt the pain in her chest, taking a deep breath and waking from the darkness she had found herself in. She stirred, trying to move her arms only to find them stiff and unyielding. That was when she remembered why.

Hermione’s eyes snapped open, light flooding them as she did so. Her eyes moved wildly, seeking, searching for that predator. The predator that had well and truly devoured her the previous night. She was now untied from the headboard, her wrists red and a little sore. She had no idea when she had fallen asleep, when the Snatcher had stopped his ministrations or if she had merely lost consciousness.

Hermione’s eyes fell on the back of the Snatcher who sat at the end of the bed, his back to her and his head hanging low. She was sure he’d probably heard her wake, but he made no sign of movement and she was grateful for it. She glanced down at herself, realizing that at some point, whilst she’d been floating in that merciful darkness, he had covered her back over with the blanket. Then, as she shifted, trying to sit up, to pull her knees up, ready to kick him away if he neared her, the blanket fell away, revealing clean bandages.

It dawned on Hermione that she must have lost consciousness the night before, and as much as it scared her, there was something that terrified her more. Last night she had come undone beneath the Snatcher, over and over and over again.

Just the knowledge was enough to make Hermione’s cheeks burn with shame; she didn’t need the wave of memories that were flooding her mind. As always it was those eyes she remembered most clearly- Ice and snow and everything tumultuous and grey.

Hermione felt sick. Sick at the Snatcher, sick at herself and just plain, tearing-at-her stomach sick. There was still that tingling trace of him upon her skin, upon her thighs that she kept fervently clenched together. The tainted, staining trace of his tongue on her thighs and the dirty mark of shame that he had left there. That touch was still there, like it was still wet, like the hot, wetness of his tongue had seeped through her skin and into her blood. Maybe that’s what had happened all that time ago; when his tongue had first sought hers, when she’d unwillingly had her first taste of him? Perhaps his touch had sunk into her, into her skin, into her blood, into her very being, poisoning her from the inside out. Because that was how she felt- poisoned.

Poisoned and dirty.

Because Hermione knew that nothing she ever did could wash the shame away from her. Nothing could ever make her forget the sensations the Snatcher’s tongue on her skin had caused. Just his wet, hot tongue on her skin… and she had cried for him. Come completely and utterly undone in front of him, laid bare and broken and so soul-shatteringly desperate.

Desperate and burning, and of course, at first, Hermione had fought the Snatcher, both mentally and physically. She would always battle against him, always, because nothing about this had been right since those piercing eyes had first sought her out. She had fought herself as she fell into his touch and struggled against him desperately, crying out for him to stop until her throat had torn. Not just because of what he was doing, but because of how it had made her feel. To feel that way beneath his fingers, beneath his tongue, that hot, burning heat that had apparently burnt into her skin- it disgusted her.

Hermione was logical, so she understood. Understood the chemistry of it all, the biology… but this had been something more than that. Once he had driven her over that edge into that star-shattering oblivion, she had felt nothing but want… maybe even before that, and as deep-down-fucking-terribly wrong as the Snatcher’s actions may have been, she couldn’t deny that spark somewhere deep inside her. The one she kept telling to bugger off whenever it reared its ugly head, because how could she live with herself if that was the case? She understood Stockholm syndrome, she understood lust, she understood the physiology and everything that it included… but she didn’t understand _this_.

This was so beyond Hermione’s comprehension, so beyond the realms of her understanding that her head felt splintered completely into two. The realization that she hated the Snatcher, (she had never _stopped_ hating him,) but still longed for his touch… it was all too confusing. Too bewildering and mystifying to get a grasp on. Yet it was there- that realization like a slap to the face. Realising that she was wrong, that something deep down inside her was dark and dangerous and especially more so around him.

That coiling, snaking, frenzied tension that the Snatcher managed to wind so tightly within herself over and over again, and the mind-shattering release at the end of it… by the end Hermione had craved it. Craved it as he whispered words against her, against her damp and tainted skin, mumbled into her flesh, her thigh and into her very core.

Words about _need_ and _must_ and _want_ and _fuck_. Words like; _all so deliciously sweet_ and _all too much and yet too little_. All whispered into her skin, repeatedly.

_I’m sorry_.  
  
Desperate.  
  
_So fucking sorry._  
  
In the end Hermione couldn’t deny it. She had wanted it. She had wanted the Snatcher to make her come undone, laying herself bare beneath him, stripped of words, stripped of sense, because Godric only knew that it had left her far behind too many days ago. Just stripped of anything but pleasure, because by the end that was all she could do- feel. Couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe and couldn’t remember any reason for those sensations to stop.

Now the Snatcher was sitting there, at the end of the bed whilst Hermione stared at him. Stared daggers like broken shards into the back of his head, because she would never forgive him, never _wanted_ to forgive him for doing this to her. For making her feel so utterly dirty. For staining her skin with more than her shame. For getting underneath her skin and in her head and twisting and twisting and turning inside her, fucking with everything that had ever defined her as her.

Hermione Granger. Gryffindor student and brightest witch of her age…

But Hermione no longer felt so brave, she no longer felt able to face herself in the mirror, let alone a dozen Death Eaters. The Snatcher had torn at her from inside out… and now she had no idea where she had gone?

 

  
                        *                        *                        *                        *

  
Scabior had watched the Granger woman come undone beneath him once more, toes curled, legs clamped tightly against his head as he breathed her in, tongue darting out. Wet, deliciously sweet and all too much and too little all rolled into one. Too much of a drug against his tongue- her taste.

The woman lying beneath him had been panting, her throat hoarse from crying out endlessly, because she hadn’t once just submitted to him. Hadn’t once just caved and even when she lost the energy to fight against him. As Scabior drained her energy from her, her eyes still blazed up at him with burning anger; flames of hatred, before squeezing shut as her walls clamped down around his fingers and her cry ripped through the air once more.

Then there was nothing but the young woman’s heavy breathing, the faint twitching of her limp legs. Scabior looked up and saw that those bewilderingly deep eyes hadn’t reopened. Her torn chest was rising and falling evenly, whether she had passed out or fallen asleep he didn’t know, didn’t care.

Scabior moved away from her, slipped from the end of the bed and let himself fall to the floor in a heap. He could barely breathe. The air was too heavy, with want and need and that sickeningly sweet scent and of course it was sickening, because look at what it did to him. Look at how much it destroyed him, tore at him, bit down hard and ripped him out. All he could see was her now. All he could taste was her. Taste her and taunt her and let it go on endlessly, that vicious cycle of wanting and hating and wanting again, only this time wanting to make it all up to her, wanting to be better, to be a better man, wanting to not want, only to want and want and want....  
  
And need.  
  
When had Scabior started to _need_ her? When had he begun to need her so badly that it had turned him into this? This monster, this beast, this junkie craving his addiction, doing anything and everything in order to have it.

Those burn-out-too-damn-brightly- eyes. Those red and ripened lips too full of blood. Muddied blood. A Mudblood’s blood. Dirty, filthy and something that Scabior shouldn’t want, let alone _need_. The taunting, ready and waiting for him flesh that sang out at him to be touched. He could drown in her. Drown and die and do it over and over again.

At what point the insanity had truly taken over, he honestly couldn’t say. All he knew was that it had. Completely. Taken over and taken all of his control, and he knew that if he didn’t do something about it soon… he was going to lose it for good.

  
                        *                        *                        *                        *

  
Why hadn’t the Snatcher moved? Why hadn’t he spoken, or turned, or left or just… _something!_  
  
Why was that man still sat there? Still in Hermione’s line of sight. Still letting those metaphorical shards of glass penetrate the back of his head, as she was still staring daggers at him, hoping against hope that she could literally conjure one out of thin air.

It made Hermione want to scream at the Snatcher but knew she couldn’t with her throat so torn. Torn, like she was now; slumped against the pillows, in a slouched position.

Scabior didn’t want to speak first. Didn’t want to break the silence. That merciful, endless silence that still stung like hell. He’d live with the stinging, live with the shame, live with the knowledge that everything he was becoming had always been so obviously expected of him. So why not go along with it? Why not live up to expectations? He’d been fighting against them for years after all.  
  
_Look at me now mother. I’m just like that bitch wanted. I followed the Pureblood way, just like you instructed, scraped by with a name and status… turned into something dark, just like everyone who’s ever heard my name anticipated. She was right mother, I’m nothing. Nothing but a name and she couldn’t take that from me. So, isn’t that great mother? I have a name. A name and status that all can fear. Aren’t you proud?_

All his life Scabior had fought those expectations. Denied the claims that he would grow up to be a monster. That he already was one because he had been ‘born from a whore,’ and every time, his defence led to blood. To blood and more pain, because of course he was punished, punished just as he had punished the woman that still lay in his bed.

Punishment… and look at what it had turned him into. Look at what it would turn _her_ into.

For some, incomprehensible reason, for a bewildering moment of clarity, Scabior realized that he didn’t want that for the young woman that he had taken. Couldn’t let the same happen to her. _Wouldn’t_ let it happen. Not at his hands.

The Snatcher turned; his eyes so sharp that Hermione thought for a moment that she had been pierced by them. He stood, face blank, eyes too bright, too cold, too sharp and staring and seeing much too much of her. Yet now he had turned she wished he hadn’t, because just his gaze on her skin made it burn.

Silence. Eating away at them both. Because what could one of them say to the other? There was nothing left to say. No words, no screams and no energy to battle against one another like they so often did. It was so, completely and utterly overwhelming. Defeating. All of it and both of them, and it hung around them, making them suffocate on it in the open room.

Silence continued to stretch between them, Scabior’s eyes unmoving from the Granger woman’s. He saw the flames, the pain, the shame. Saw the hate, the hurt and whatever the hell else she had burning back there.  
  
“You need to go.”  
  
Words, too blunt, too dead but definitely necessary. Scabior had let them fall from his mouth, too quickly, too full of nothingness and numbness, because if he lingered, if he let himself hesitate, he wouldn’t let those words fall. He would have swallowed them back up, shut them away inside himself and let his insanity reign.

“What?”

Hermione’s voice was too small, too confused and too lost. She hated that. Always detested the question, especially when it fell from her lips, as she couldn’t stand not understanding. It was too rare a situation for her, and it left her feeling totally out of her depth.  
  
“You- need- to- go.”  
  
Just as blunt, just as dead, but slower, more deliberate this time.  
  
The Snatcher’s eyes seemed empty, something was wrong. Something was different, and for a split second, for a wholly-mentally-unstable second, Hermione had almost paused to find out what it was.

Sanity clawed at her, digging itself in, and tearing at her sharply.  
  
“I can leave?”

Hope. Too much hope in those high-pitched words, mind shattering as the young woman spoke them. Painful as they penetrated the mists of guilt that drowned out everything else inside him.

 “Yes.”

All too quickly, despite the hurt and pain Scabior knew she was in, the beauty in his bed had scrambled up. She had hurriedly sought her blood-stained jumper from the floor and was padding across the floor, bare-footed, hurrying past him.

Hermione rushed from the bed, pausing only long enough to bend and grab her jumper from the floor. She ignored the pain as the wound on her chest stung and hurried on, bracing herself as she passed the Snatcher. He stood there, his eyes no longer on hers, just staring straight ahead at that bed.

Something flooded through Hermione when the Snatcher didn’t stop her from passing. Relief? Maybe… hopefully, because that would mean that there was still a shred of sanity left inside her. Still a shred of her, a glimmer of who she was, or who she was supposed to be.

Taking a chance, Hermione grabbed the small pile of clothing that lay on the arm of the sofa. The Snatcher had obviously taken them from the storage cupboard which was now miraculously unlocked. She took an even bigger chance when she ran to the bathroom, using the facilities before tugging on the clothing hurriedly.

Without hesitation Hermione pulled on the vest and overly large cream shirt, tugging on the blood-stained jumper, not caring what she looked like. She was overly thankful that her jeans had finally been returned to her. She realized he had planned this; he must have gotten her things ready for her whilst she had been unconscious.

Again, Hermione braced herself as she left the bathroom, prepared for a change of heart on the Snatcher’s part, but he was standing right where she had left him. Still staring.

Hermione was pulling on her coat, careful not to tear the wound on her chest any further than she already had. She was so much more than ready to leave, her boots unlaced but now on her feet. She made a small coughing noise, hoping that the Snatcher would turn, before holding out her hand. When he made no sign of movement she spoke.  
  
“My wand?”  
  
Because Hermione was nothing without that stick of wood, but she knew, the moment she had that stick of wood back in her hand, Hermione Granger would return. She would hurt and she would cry but she would do what Hermione Granger always did, and that was continue to fight on.

The Snatcher turned slightly, slowly, and Hermione noticed that his wand was in his hand at his side, which was curled into a tight fist. She stepped back instinctively, ready to run, ready to flee. Then that glimmer of life returned to his eyes. His lips curling up into a smile before he sneered at her.

“Afraid I ent that stupid love. No way I can let a clever thing like yer loose wit’ a wand. I wanna keep my life, ta.”  
  
Hermione frowned up at him.

“But I need it to get home.” Hermione said, before realizing that her home really didn’t exist anymore.

“It ent part of the deal sweetheart. Now go, before I change m’ mind.” The Snatcher nodded toward the door, that strange, small smile on his lips. Something almost bittersweet about it.

Hermione frowned back at him, seething, but she wasn’t stupid either. It was either she faced the world outside unarmed or stayed in there with the Snatcher… and whatever the outside world had to offer her, it had to be better than this.

With a small growl Hermione turned, storming to the door, surprised when she pulled it open and even more so when nothing but silence answered her back from the Snatcher. Just silence and suffocation from that something heavy in the air around them.  
  
Fine.  
  
Hermione replied to his silence by slamming the door behind her as she stepped outside and into the wintery morning, making snow fall from the roof above. She hoped the whole hut had shaken, hoped it would all fall down around him, on top of him, burying him, like he had done to her.  
  
But Hermione didn’t have time to dwell on it, didn’t _want_ to dwell on it. As the outside air touched her face for the first time in days, despite the cold, she closed her eyes and breathed it in deeply. It seemed silly to find the fresh air around her such a blessed gift, but it was, and it stretched endlessly on around her.  
  
Hurrying on, Hermione’s footsteps crunched and squeaked loudly in the deep blanket of snow. It was hard to walk, she could still feel the pain in her chest when it rose. But she kept on walking. Knew that she had to.  
  
Finally. She was free.

  
Scabior didn’t have any words. Didn’t have anything to say as the Granger woman stormed over to the door. Sorry just didn’t seem to quite make up for all his sins.

Scabior glanced at the young woman’s back as she retreated from him, stomping furiously over to the door. Then he looked away, looked at the bed, at that tainted and ruined place that would haunt him forever.  
  
Scabior’s ears pricked when he heard the slightest pause in the young woman’s step, and he chose to ignore the sudden skip of his heartbeat. Didn’t want to understand that flash of hope that had sprung to life inside him. And then he heard the door slam. Heard the resounding sound as it echoed of the walls. _Felt_ it as the hut shook slightly. Then a thud as snow fell from the roof before finally; silence.  
  
Endless agonizing silence.  
  
Scabior closed his eyes.  
  
It was gone.  
  
The faintest trace of the Granger woman’s scent still lingered, but it was gone, and quite what _it_ was exactly, Scabior wasn’t sure. It had gone and left him with an emptiness inside him, a feeling of loss that he didn’t need or want to understand.  
  
Scabior turned then. His eyes fixed on the window, on the figure outside.  
  
Long, brown and riotous curly hair was billowing in the cold breeze. Hermione Granger, Potter’s Mudblood, had her arms outstretched slightly and he was sure even from looking at her back, that with her head tilted up like that her eyes had been closed.  
  
Fuck.  
  
Scabior hadn’t wanted to see that. Had hoped that the Granger woman would have retreated into the cover of the surrounding trees by now and he knew that the image of her standing there was going to haunt him. It would be there, along with the bright, burning eyes, the tears, the cries, the screams and the want. It would haunt him, side by side with his need for her.  
  
But as Scabior stood staring at that beautiful young woman, watching as she finally struggled onwards through the snow, he felt a tearing at his chest he hadn’t felt before.  
  
She was leaving.

Scabior watched as the Granger woman reached the trees, carefully climbing over a large tree root. He had needed to make her leave and it had been hard. It would had been so simple just to ignore that better half of him. To make her stay, to make her well and truly his but maybe this was a sign? Maybe there was still hope for him? Maybe he could be something other than a monster… but just not around her.  
  
That beautiful Mudblood, Hermione Granger, friend of Potters and an Undesirable, was leaving.

Scabior could just make out the young woman with wild and frenzied hair like him, as she stumbled, reaching out and grabbing a tree branch to keep her steady before she marched on.  
  
She really had to leave…  
  
She really had to…

Scabior had to remind himself that it was a good thing. It kept her safe from him and him safe from himself. Safe from the threats and the thoughts that so easily turned to actions. So easily turned into him on her and skin on skin.  
  
She was gone.  
  
Scabior felt it as that emptiness churned inside him, making the sickness feel so much worse as it contorted with the guilt, knotting and tangling within him. He stared out the window dolefully looking for the beauty that had been in his bed just moments before, eyes searching for a sign of her. He sought her longingly, unknowing why, he just did- long for her.  
  
But the beautiful young woman that Scabior had been lucky just to get close to, was gone.  
  
Finally. He was free. 

 

 

A/N: Please let me know what you think? Have the updates from my fics been paced okay? Always anxious to hear from you. I now have a Dramione fic up on AO3 if any of you are interested. x


	24. Desperation

[ ](https://imgur.com/7q7j2yE)

 

 

New A/N: Hehe. Sorry for the seasonal original author’s note and sorry that this update is late. I’ve been out doing Viking Re-enactment and been teaching children all about it. Bank holiday meant a long show and I was shattered. If you want to follow what I get up to you have my tumblr. Hope you’re still enjoying the fic.  
  
Original A/N: Sorry that it’s been soooo long. My life got busy :(  
  
MERRY XMAS! HAPPY HOLIDAYS AND YULE-TIDE BLESSINGS!!! Ho ho ho! This is my present to you guys, my loyal and lovely readers. I always value your opinion and reviews. I always like to hear from you, be it just to have a natter. I can not thank you enough for the support you have shown my fics. I love you all.  
Holiday Loving to all!!!!  
As always please let me know what you think. I am posting these sites addresses in order to reply to your reviews. :)   
And feel free to email me: Gryffindorgirl2010@hotmail.co.uk  
My tumblr: http://gryffindorgirl7777.tumblr.com/

 

  
**Chapter Twenty-Four**

  
**Desperation**

  
Why wouldn’t Hermione’s useless body keep up with her brain?  
  
Merlin, it was bloody cold, and Hermione was extremely tired. She felt like she’d been walking for days. Only she hadn’t. She’d been stumbling around blindly, and yes, she’d been doing so for a matter of hours now, but she had yet to find her way out of the snow-covered forest.

Perhaps it was because Hermione was so tired? Maybe it was because she hadn’t eaten that day? Or just maybe, it was a side-effect of the curse that the Snatcher had fired at her from his wand the previous night. Who knew? For once she certainly didn’t and she certainly didn’t know why on earth he’d let her go.

Hermione was exhausted and ached endlessly for her wand. That simple stick of wood that was lost to her and felt like a missing limb. In two seconds, she could have been out of there. She could have apparated herself far away. Far away from that cold, forested place and far, far away from him- her Snatcher. Away from that smell of evergreens, of wet earth beneath the snow. But that smell was entrenched in her now, from where she’d tripped and stumbled and slipped on that blanket of white. From where she’d tumbled and fallen over and over again.

And it irked Hermione that the bastard made it all look so easy.

That Snatcher moved with a nimbleness and light-footedness that made Hermione envious now. She’d always been the fastest between herself, Ron and Harry. She’d always found her way through the forests they camped in with relative ease. But now she was struggling, her chest stinging as her skin stretched with each and every trip and fall.

Hermione looked down at her chest, seeing it covered by her jumper and her coat, but it felt better than the night before. It felt relatively healed. She could only speculate that the Snatcher had performed more of the mediocre healing charms he had used the night before last. The same night that he’d struck her with the destructive hex that was now bothering her, stinging. Without those weak healing spells, she knew that she would still have an open tear in her chest and that the wound would still bleeding. Now she was almost certain that other than the stinging soreness, all that remained was a scar.

What had that Snatcher done during the previous night and the early hours of that morning?  
  
When Hermione had awoken, the Snatcher had kept his back to her for so long, drawing her attention like potential prey would catch the attention of a predator.  She had kept her eyes on him for so long, watching in case he approached her, that she hadn’t noticed the small pile of clothing on the arm of the sofa. It wasn’t until he dismissed her that it caught her eye. So, it was clear that he had prepared for her leaving.

The storage cupboard had been unlocked and ajar when Hermione had hurried into the water closet. Her boots sat just outside the door; her coat draped over the top of it. Hermione had been in too much of a hurry to question the Snatcher, was scared that if she lingered there, that he might change his mind about letting her go. Now, as she stumbled on through the thick blanket of snow, the trees dense around her, she wished she’d stopped, just long enough to search that cupboard for any trace of her wand. Perhaps that thought was naïve, that he’d had it on his person and kept it there since the moment he took it from her. But all she could do as she trudged on, was let her shortcomings replay themselves inside her head. Godric help her, she had so many.  
  
Hermione kept replaying that vacant stare on the Snatcher’s face as he’d stared ahead at that bed even once she had moved from it. Something other than the healing wound was aching inside her chest when she saw him there, staring. He looked… almost _lost_. Something about his expression looked so utterly and completely lost to her.

Something about that expression cut at her deep inside, like shards of ice piercing her heart. Something about him and those deadened eyes made her feel sorry for him. Stupidly.  
  
Hermione wasn’t stupid. She knew that she was just a possession to that man, one that he could throw away, like he had so effortlessly thrown her away that morning. She meant nothing to him. She was just a meal ticket, just a handful of Galleons and a form of entertainment to him. Something he found fun to torment.

Hermione remembered the Snatcher’s reply when she’d asked him why he had pressed her up against the kitchen counter and had so mercilessly brought her to the brink of coming undone, only to let her fall to the floor.

_“Because it was fun.”_

The words reverberated around Hermione’s head, colliding with the inside of her skull until her head pounded. She had been that Snatcher’s form of entertainment and after the events of the previous night, he was quite evidently done with her. Bored of her. It was time to throw her away like a discarded toy.

Hermione should be happy. Should be glad to be away from the Snatcher that had taken her from her little family. She should be relieved to be free, to be able to walk away rather than being sold on to someone else, to have escaped being harassed and mistreated by some other scoundrel, or worse.  
  
So why, why then did Hermione resent that man for it?  
  
Surely she should be thanking him? She should be eternally grateful to all the greater powers in the universe for getting her out of there, for giving her an escape. She shouldn’t be feeling so aggrieved… and so… _hurt_.

That Snatcher had used her, used her for his own devices.

Hermione reminded herself of all that Snatcher had done as she stomped across the forest ground, pulling on branches to help her up a steep bank. He had used her and would have carried on doing so. He would happily have passed her on, gotten paid for handing her over to people… no _, monsters_ , like Lucius Malfoy.

Hermione shuddered as she stopped in her tracks, panting, her breath rising in a mist before her. Her chest ached as it rose and fell, the healing skin stretching painfully. She had heard rumours about Lucius Malfoy before. She’d merely waved them aside as some sort of fantastical story told and designed to strike fear into other Muggle-born women. Now she wasn’t so certain that was the case. Her Snatcher had threatened her time and again with the Malfoy name and after her short stay at their dark yet opulent manor, she had reason to believe those stories. She could only be grateful that the Snatcher had held up his end of the bargain. He hadn’t sold her onto Lucius.

So why didn’t he?

To say that the Snatcher had messed with Hermione’s head would be an understatement, and Hermione had always had a very organized head. Logic and actions in their right compartments, a drawer filled with reasons and consequences, they all had their place. A storage space at the back for passages from old tomes and books that she had devoured and memorized. One section kept particularly for Hogwarts: A History.

But that organized head, that had gotten Hermione so far in school, was useless now. So damned useless that it made her head hurt to try and figure it all out.

Hence Hermione had kept climbing, kept walking, ignoring the darkness that was drawing in, obscuring the forest around her. Ignored the branches that caught on her coat and hair, ignored the tree roots that seemed to jump up and trip her as she marched onwards. The sooner she got out of that forest, the sooner she could find the boys. How she’d go about it she didn’t know, and how she’d be able to look either of them in the eye again after all that had happened, she had no idea. Especially Ron.

Hermione’s heart ached as she pictured her tall, red-haired friend. The one who’d had her heart unknowingly for so long now and yet, she couldn’t imagine being able to face him now. To tell him what had happened while she had been away from them.   
  
Hermione’s cheeks flushed as she replayed the events of the previous night. Remembered the sensations Scabior had drawn forth from her. Eliciting moans that even she could admit sounded wanton when she played it back in her head. She recalled the feelings that she’d had no idea that she could feel and that deep abyss of bliss that had made her wonder if she had really died and gone to heaven.

No. Hermione knew now that she could never look Ron in the eye again. She was sure of that. She felt tainted. So utterly tainted from the lashes of that man’s tongue on her thighs. The Snatcher had left traces of himself all over her, and not just in her head.

And why that man had to smell like the forest that surrounded her just annoyed Hermione further as she struggled on through it. But there was something missing. That something that she had always associated only with him. Something that told her the smells surrounding her weren’t from his scent…

Hermione was on her own.

  
                        *                        *                        *                        *

  
Scabior stood, staring at the empty bed, willing himself to move. He should go. But go where?  
  
_Anywhere._  
  
Anywhere was better than here… where that woman wasn’t.  
  
Scabior knew that he should go back to work, go back to that life, go back to a time where the Granger woman wasn’t all that he craved. As he stared at that empty bed, the memory of her the night before returned to him; her back arched, her delicious scent, and those cries of ecstasy.  
  
They would forever haunt him.  
  
Scabior let himself slump down, sitting on the floor, his knees up before him and his face in his hands. He was so tired. Too tired.  
  
And it was all that Granger chit’s fault.  
  
Scabior had never _craved_ someone before. Sure, he had lusted, he had wanted, but he had never actually felt that he _needed_ someone. Needed her like needing oxygen whilst drowning.

That woman brought forth feelings that Scabior had long since dampened down. Feelings that he’d fought hard to bury deep down inside himself. Feelings that he didn’t wish to remember.

Emotions that were painful.

All that Scabior had done was hurt that woman. He could still see those sorrowful, hating brown eyes raging up at him, with that roaring fire that always burned inside them. So why, why when she wasn’t even there anymore, when her scent only just lingered in the air, all too faint, why with just the memory of those eyes, was he hard for her?  
  
Just like a school boy, Scabior had a raging hard on beneath his pants that was almost painful as he got to his feet. He followed them, obediently as they brought him round to the bed. The bed soaked in the Granger woman’s scent. He lay down on it. Maybe he should sleep? But all could do was want, as the scent of her surrounded him.

With his head in the pillow Scabior breathed it in, that scent that belonged only to the young woman that had left mere hours before, aching. Aching far too much and feeling all too much like he was a teenager again because without realizing, his hand had reached for the buckle on his trousers. Before he could stop himself, he had yanked down the zip and pulled himself free from the confines of the restricting material.

All because of that Granger woman.

And Scabior was aware of that, aware of how insane he must be as he rubbed himself, half kneeling, half lying, his head in the pillow, breathing her in. Because that scent would be gone soon, like she now was, and he wasn’t ready, wasn’t ready to stop wanting.

The memory of the night before was all too real, all too raw, all too stare-him-in-the-face- clear to him that he was drunk on the woman. Obsessed. Scabior’s head was filled with her.  
  
Scabior remembered how hot and how wet the beauty beneath had been, the taste of her on his tongue. He had lapped it up, drank in her poison, because it must have been. It had to be poison because he was intoxicated by her, just by that lingering scent on his bedsheets as he wrapped his hand around his cock, rubbing himself as he drove closer and closer to that edge.  
  
It was all almost too pitiful, too pathetic for Scabior to bear, and still he kept on stroking, bringing himself closer to that forbidden freedom he had never allowed himself with her bar once. And oh, how he regretted that one time. Both regretted and yearned for it once more.  
  
That heat, that desperately wet and waiting heat, her lips so sweet and ripe and waiting for him. Now Scabior had felt that wet heat elsewhere, had tasted it, too forbidden to dream of sullying it. But it was all he could think of as he rolled in on himself, the walls in his head collapsing in on themselves as he stroked and rubbed desperately for some form of release and satisfaction. Satisfaction he could only find in that prohibited wet and waiting, sugar-laced heat.

That was all it took, just those thoughts, the thoughts of his wet digits from the night before, from the memory of the Granger woman’s taste on his tongue. The scent of her was still ripe in the air, ripe beneath him as he breathed it in, half-suffocating himself on it as he pressed his stubbled face into the pillow. Too desperate, too eager to be inside that blessed heat, to see her eyes roll back and close, long dark lashes hiding those flames from view as a different fire was stoked. Her moans, desperate, crying freely out into the emptiness of the hut, crying into his mouth and against his wet tongue… the taste of sugar and vanilla and…

…And that was all it took.  
  
Scabior came undone, there and then, on the already sullied bedsheet. Came like a schoolboy, grunting as he wanked himself to his release, only to thoughts of Hermine fucking Granger. Because that’s all it took now. That was all it took for him to need her.

As Scabior lay there, panting, trying to breathe in the last of that woman’s fast-fading scent he was too wholly and completely aware of how very unsatisfied he was. How much it had only left him hollow.

As Scabior lay there, catching his breath, staring at the ceiling, he could think of only one thing to do.

In moments he had moved from the bed, moving with a mission and an all too important purpose.

 

  
                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

  
Night had long since fallen and in the bitter cold of darkness Hermione tried to quieten her breathing, to steady her steps, but she fell, repeatedly, alone in the darkness. She was thankful for it, for the loneliness, lest she be stumbled upon by some other creature of the dark. Because that was what she feared, as she staggered and stumbled on, straining her eyes almost painfully in the darkness. She feared the shadows, feared the noises that the nature of the night made in the dark. She wanted to be alone, to know that there was nothing out there. But she was smarter than that. She was Hermione Granger, and she knew the sorts of animals that lurked in the dark. Knew of some of them first hand.

Hermione let out a startled cry as she tripped on something, panting in the cold air around her, brushing her wild curls back from her face as she looked about her, looking for any sign other than the natural nightly wanderings of the creatures of the forest. When she found nothing, she continued on, only to fall with a sudden, winding thud, her face planted into the snowy ground.   
  
Hermione was not one of them. She didn’t have the same agility those creatures did and didn’t have the athletic abilities the Snatcher had always possessed. She couldn’t see in the dark, and so she scooted back on the wet, snow covered ground, resting her head rest back on the trunk of a tree. Godric help her, she was tired. Too tired now and too cold. She was alone, in the deep dark woods, and there was no one coming for her.

Closing her eyes, Hermione remained determined not to let the tears fall as she took in the entirely hopeless circumstance of the situation.  
  
Loneliness was all that Hermione had to be grateful for, and yet it burned her painfully.  
  
Hermione breathed in the cold night air, trying to remind herself of the reasons she had to move forward, to continue struggling, but all she had was an empty head. No neatly compartmentalised and orderly system inside it. It was empty.

Rubbing her freezing hands together before wrapping her arms around herself, Hermione brought her legs up and in towards her, trying to fold in on herself. She looked about her, the bleak and miserable darkness answering back. It would be foolish to continue on in the shadows, and again, she scorned the Snatcher for keeping her wand.

Hermione knew why he had done it. He feared her retribution, and rightly so. The moment she had her wand in her hand she would have shown him what a powerful witch she really was. But he hadn’t and now she was huddled in the snow, in the darkness, unarmed… and alone.

Hermione hadn’t meant to sleep, but somehow, despite the cold and violent shivering, she woke to find that she had slumbered for a while. How long she couldn’t be sure, but she determined from the lighter forest around her, now visible through a misty fog, that morning had broken only a short while ago.

Scrambling up Hermione struggled on. Not knowing what way to turn… just moving onwards.

Hermione’s breath was a mist before her, and again she tripped and slipped on the uneven ground. It was all too cold and too wet, but she kept on moving, choosing to ignore the way her hair entangled itself in branches as she passed, ignoring how her boots slipped, creating large rivulets in the wet mud beneath the blanket of snow that covered the ground.

Hermione ignored the tearing feeling in her chest, that wasn’t just from the healing wound that marred her skin. She ignored how much she was shivering, trying to move faster, an urgency in her strides as she fought to put more distance between her and the Snatcher, and Merlin, how she felt it pulling tightly, taught and threatening to snap.    

Hermione struggled on…

 

  
                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

  
Scabior had lost track of the Granger girl that night, when he had left the cabin to try and trace her movements. He found only silence answering him from the depths of the forest. Either the young witch had vanished, rescued maybe by her idiotic friends, or she had settled somewhere for the night.

Scabior hated it. Hated the worry and concern that filled him, as he queried her safety. Stupid ideas and worst-case scenarios filled his head, making him feel sick at the thought of them. What if she was lying out there somewhere in the snow? What if she had fallen, injured or too exhausted to continue? What if she was lying unconscious somewhere on the forest floor? What if she was floating in the brook, pale face upturned, body stuff and cold?  
  
Too many what ifs and stupid thoughts.  
  
Too many thoughts and feelings that Scabior hadn’t known that he possessed and knew that he shouldn’t and most definitely not about the Granger woman. What did it mean to feel that way about her? To feel that way about a muggleborn, the same as the people he hunted, and _worse_ , because she was Hermione fucking Granger. One of the top Undesirables that had the Malfoys and that batshit crazy Lestrange woman up in arms. What did it mean to feel that way about something so fragile and innocent, or for him to have feelings at all? When he was just a monster, trained and expected to cause nothing but brutality and misery? Wasn’t that all that was expected from him? Salazar, knew that they were the only expectations he could live up to.

Scabior didn’t sleep much that night. Too eager to step outside and search once again, and he knew that he shouldn’t, knew that he had dismissed that woman for a reason, but only Merlin knew what the hell he was doing anymore.  
  
It didn’t take long for Scabior to find the Granger woman the next morning. He found traces of her everywhere. Her scent lingered in places, he found her hair amongst thorny bushes and the branches of low hanging trees. He followed the gullies made in the mud by those fleece-lined boots she had kicked him with mere days before. Scraps of material from her coat had tangled themselves into the clawing branches of bushes and trees. Apparently, she had no sense of stealth, of knowing how to _not_ be tracked.

Before long Scabior could pinpoint exactly where the Granger woman was. He had not been promoted to the head of the Snatchers for nothing. If tracking was needed, he was the best in the game. He had grown up hunting, running. Often for his own survival. So when it came to finding her it was easy for him to trace her steps.

Scabior flicked his wand, apparating somewhere a way ahead of the young woman, predicting the direction she would head in merely because it had the least obstacles. He leapt into a tree, pulling himself up easily onto one of the thick branches, before climbing a little higher. With that he spread himself out on the think branch, his back against the trunk and waited.

Low and behold, not long after, Scabior heard the commotion that was the young witch trampling through the forest. Merlin, she was lucky no one else had been around. If they had been, she would have been dead… or worse.  
  
Hermione panted, coming to a halt after climbing another high bank, not altogether sure that she wasn’t going in circles. She bent over, her hands on her knees as she struggled to drag the freezing cold air into her aching lungs.

“’Ello beautiful.”

Hermione stumbled, leaping backwards so hurriedly that she lost her footing, tumbling back into the snow as she reached to her pocket for her wand so instinctively, before remembering it wasn’t there.

Scabior had said it for effect, and it had the effect he desired. He smiled down at the young woman who had just fallen into the snow and was staring defiantly up at him. Silence greeted him, but that biting glare told him how much she would make him pay if she could. It was so –biting, tearing at the skin- obvious that she hated him, and he’d let her. He knew he deserved much worse.

“You’re lucky I’m the only one ‘ere girl. Wit’ the way you’re tramplin’ about I could track yer down from miles off.”  
  
Hermione sneered at the Snatcher then, struggling hurriedly to her feet once more as she brushed the snow and dirt from her clothes as best as she could, only really managing to smear them into the fabric. Then she began to head off once more, pausing only for a moment to decide what direction to head in next.

“You’re like a ragin’ Hippogriff out here yer know?” Scabior teased her, taunting her from his hiding spot in the tree.  
  
It had the desired effect. The Granger woman span around, her hair flying out behind her before her angry glare fixed on him. The fire inside them burning brightly

“What do you want?” Hermione snapped at him, bit the words out loudly from between her teeth.

“Nothin’, just came by to see how you’re gettin’ on.” Scabior taunted her, fiddling with his wand, winding her up all the more. Because he was still a bastard, despite the wanting and the needing. He was still a Slytherin and a Snatcher and she was still a Gryffindor and a Mudblood. Exactly what he should be hunting. Besides, a bastard was _exactly_ what he was. He might as well live up to the namesake.

“I would be doing a lot better if you would just give me my wand.” The harassed young woman retorted, fixing him with a stern look that he guessed she may have fixed the other young idiots with. But he wasn’t like them.

“No can do, sweetheart.”

There was no way that Scabior was going to hand such a weapon over to such a volatile, angry and powerful witch. She had to be, to have eluded the Death Eaters for so long. He had just been in the right place at the right time… on a couple of occasions.

“Then leave me alone.”

But Scabior was sure that the Granger woman’s cheeks were reddening, and it wasn’t because of a sudden decrease in temperature. Maybe she was remembering, like he had remembered. Like he still was.

“Jus’ thought I’d throw out the offer to return to my cabin.” Scabior shrugged, playing at being helpful, knowing that it irked the angered woman on the ground beneath him all the more.

“I’d rather sleep out here again.” Hermione hissed angrily back at him.

Returning to that place was the last thing Hermione could think about. It held too many tainted memories for her to return, even if it was necessary. Too many moments that she should have done more to prevent. She would rather collapse and die out there in the cold than return to that hut with _him_.

“How’s about I promise t’ behave?” Scabior replied, talking to the young woman’s back now as she stormed off

“How’s about you go and die.” Hermione snapped back at him.

It was the first time, the _very_ first time that Hermione had said something quite so dark and quite so hateful to someone. That was the passion that man evoked from her. Passion. And she burned with it, a fiery one at that. A passionate hatred and disdain for the Snatcher in the tree before her.

“Well that ent very nice is it?” Scabior leapt from his perch suddenly, making her turn to him and back up in the direction she had been headed. “Don’ worry Princess, I’ll leave yer to it. Yer know where I am if yer change your mind.”

Scabior looked her up and down, slowly, purposefully, letting her feel the iciness of his judging eyes upon her.

“Or maybe yer don’t. Good luck finding your way outta the forest Hippogriff.”

With that Hermione watched his retreating back, merging into the thick fog and altogether shadiness of the forest. In seconds he was gone, and she was left wondering if he had apparated, or merely blended in with the very forest itself.

Hermione had to find her way out of that forest, find her way home… and find a way to escape him.

 

 

  
Original A/N: I know it’s a lil shorter than usual, but I am SOOOO tired. And I wanted to update tonight as an Xmas present. Merry Xmas everyone! x xxxx

 


	25. Risking

[](https://imgur.com/7q7j2yE)

 

New A/N: So I’ve just found out that I’ll be spending a month in Bath hospital from the 14th Oct to the 8th Nov… and they don’t have WiFi facilities on the ward. Going to try and get a dongle so that I can continue updating for you. As always, please review. It encourages me to continue when I’m worrying about my writing or if people are still reading it or not. Hopefully you’re enjoying it though.

  
Original A/N: Hey y’all! Sorry its been so0o0o looooong! I got a lil confused because I had two different documents saved as chapter 24 so when you guys thought I’d updated it’s because I did… and then realized that half of it was chapter 24. So yeh. Confuzzling!!!! ☺  
  
My email: [Gryffindorgirl2010@hotmail.co.uk](mailto:Gryffindorgirl2010@hotmail.co.uk)  
Tumblr: <https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gryffindorgirl7777>

CURRENTLY NOT BETA-READ

  
**Chapter Twenty-Five**

**  
Risking.**

 

  
Stupid forest, stupid trees and branches and mud and urgh! Just everything! Hermione had always been a lover of nature, but right now, love and kind thoughts about her surroundings were nowhere to be found. Right now, she was just tired, in pain and desperate. Desperate to be done with the stupid forest already.

Another night had passed. Another night in the cold, without food or warmth, or sanity. Because surely, Hermione had lost it all by now? It had disappeared long ago, the moment she first became infected with that first piercing glance from the Snatcher’s blue-grey eyes.

How big was this place anyway?

Stopping, Hermione bent over, her hands on her thighs as she inhaled the cold winter air, harder than it should have been just to breathe. She looked up through her hair as it fell about her face. Still she could see no thinning of the trees, no sign that the edge of the forest was close at all.

“You’ve got a long way t’ go yet love.”

Hermione practically leapt out of her skin, stumbling and falling over her own feet and the thick snow as she automatically went for her wand again, remembering that the owner of that voice still possessed it. She whimpered sharply, grabbing at the ankle she had twisted as she fell.

“Gryffindor’s Ghost!” Hermione panted. “You scared the _hell_ out of me!” She shouted the second half of her refrain angrily at the Snatcher, but the remark about her house founder had been breathy and startled. Her heart slid back down into her chest from where it had jumped into her throat at the sound of someone other than herself speaking.  
  
“Yeah, well I think you’re doin’ a pretty good job of scarin’ all the wildlife round here wit’ the way you’re stompin’ n stumblin’ around.” The Snatcher smirked back at Hermione from his perch in an oak tree.

“Give me back my wand then!” Hermione yelled up at him, trying to get up gracefully, keeping her weight from her throbbing ankle as she brushed the snow and mud from her jeans before frowning back up at him.

A mistake.

Cold coloured, penetrating eyes met hers, and they stilled pierced Hermione every time he looked at her. Pierced her skin and made it sting and tingle and other things she didn’t want to think about, to name or to consider.  
  
So Hermione chose only to ignore it.

“No.”

A bored, drawled reply as the Snatcher finally turned his head away, swinging the leg that dangled over the edge of a thick branch high above her head.  
  
Hermione let out a frustrated growl.

“Why are you even here then?” Gritted teeth, grinding slightly from Hermione’s frustration. Because the Snatcher had let her go, he had let her go and this was her freedom. And yes, she might be stuck in the forest, unsure of where to go or where she was headed, but he had been missing from it. It had been uninhabited by him; the sound of his voice and those stupid, burn-out-too-damn-brightly eyes. Now he was there, impeding on that blessed freedom. That gift that he had previously bequeathed her.

“Same as yesterday. ‘Just thought I’d see how yer were doin’ this mornin’, Princess.” The Snatcher’s reply had its usual charm to it, but it was mocking- annoying Hermione with every syllable. “Must admit, I thought you’d ‘ave gotten further by now.”

“Godric damn it! Just give me back my damn wand!” Hermine shouted, the taught line of her already thinning patience finally snapping. That man, that animal was getting on her very last nerve. She stamped her foot down into the snow, instantly wishing she hadn’t because pain reverberated about her, making her stagger slightly.

“So many curses from a woman of your calibre. Probably a good thin’ I let yer go. You’re startin’ to sound like me.”

Hermione let out a loud growl of annoyance at his response. Why was that man doing this? Why was he still able to slip so easily beneath her skin, his very essence itching beneath the surface? She wanted to scratch, to dig her nails deep beneath her skin and scrape him out. Did he think it was funny?

_No. He thinks it’s fun._

Hermione reminded herself. She wanted to scratch the Snatcher’s eyes out and claw at her skin, because she could still incomprehensibly feel the trace of his tongue upon it. She turned sharply and began to walk away, stumbling and staggering in her haste to be away from him.  
  
“Yer alright love? You’re not lookin’ too great.” Scabior called after her. He hated that the question was laced with concern. Something he shouldn’t even possess anymore after years of stamping useless emotions like that down.

Scabior watched the Granger woman’s retreating back, heard her noise of anger and frustration as her coat caught on thorns, holding her up on the way to wherever the hell she was headed. He was pretty sure that even she didn’t know.

Scabior checked in on her a couple more times that day. Popping back to his cabin only to eat at lunchtime, having half-starved himself in order to share his food with her since her arrival. Although, it wasn’t as though he wasn’t used to it. Starving that is. He’d gone days without food as a boy, until his stomach ached so badly that he thought it might cave in upon itself. He may have been brought up in a Pureblood family, but that in no way meant that he was treated as an equal.

One of the good things about Scabior beginning school at Hogwarts had been the steady stream of regular meals. He had found himself in trouble a couple of times at first for sneaking food away, wrapped in a cloth until he could hide it in his room. It took a while for him to realise that he didn’t have to scrape and save and scrap for his food anymore. That food was a constant now and that it would be available to him three times a day for as long as he was in the school. But that didn’t help him in the Summer, when he had to return to that cursed place that his family called home. 

It occurred to Scabior, as he stood behind trees, leaning lazily and watching the Granger woman’s advances, that she hadn’t eaten for a while either. That she had seemed underfed when he’d first snatched her from her little friends. He wondered if she was hungry. If she was, she never showed it. Never complained. She just continued onwards with a stalwart determination that irked him. Because it was obvious to Scabior, how desperate she was to get away from him.

Scabior sneered at the young woman as she stumbled, beginning to fall more often now as she made her way, not realizing that she’d actually begun to backtrack on herself.   
  
“Here.” Scabior exclaimed, stepping out from behind a tree as she approached. He threw an apple at her feet in the snow, but she had cried out in alarm, slipping on the wet snow, landing hard on her bum.

“How do you keep doing that?” Hermione asked the Snatcher in annoyance, as she glared up at him from where she’d fallen to the ground. “How do you keep just popping up wherever I am?”

“Wit’ the noise you’re makin’ love, the whole damn forest knows where yer are. You’re makin’ as much noise as a herd of Hippogriffs. I heard you almost two miles back.”

Scabior jeered at her from a few feet away as he leant back against the trunk of a large evergreen. He couldn’t help but taunt her as he felt the resentment towards her swell within in. He resented her for wanting so badly to be away from him, whilst he could barely bear to keep away. Not that he could blame her of course.

“Oh, shut up!” Hermione hissed at the Snatcher. Too much hatred for the man that was haunting her, stalking her, invading her thoughts and feelings more than she liked to admit.

Every time the Snatcher spoke, Hermione felt his tongue on her thighs. Felt weak kneed, and more aware of his presence than ever. She hated him and yet her body burned where he had touched her, which made her hate herself more.  
  
Hermione wanted to scream, to let it all out in one, loud, unending scream. To lie down, close her eyes and not get back up for a very, very long time. But the Snatcher was there. Too close, always too close, even when he wasn’t in her presence. He always had been- too close, always there- since the very first time she’d met him. Since his piercing, crystalline eyes had held hers in their gaze, even unknowingly. Since before he had begun to hunt her… no, because she couldn’t remember a time before now that she _hadn’t been_ hunted.

Because Hermione had been belittled and bullied at her muggle school, long before she started her schooling at Hogwarts, and it had continued there until the incident with the troll. Merlin, she loved Harry and Ron, so dearly. But befriending the Boy-Who-Lived had come with its downfalls. She had been targeted for her blood status, for being Harry’s friend and confidant, because unfortunately, every where that Harry went, the forces of darkness seemed to follow him.

No. If Hermione was truly honest with herself, she didn’t think that there had never been a time that she hadn’t been hunted.

Hermione’s eyes landed on the apple that had landed deep in the snow. Her stomach twisted with hunger, aching like the rest of her body as it begged her silently to eat it. But Hermione was furious, too angry even to accept what her body so sorely needed. She snatched up the green apple and turned in the direction of the Snatcher. She threw it, felt her stomach lurch at the loss, as the fruit hurtled through the air at the man that was tormenting her for his own amusement.   
  
The Snatcher ducked out of the way of the flying fruit as it soared through the air, heading right for his face. As he nimbly dodged the apple, Hermione let out a growl of annoyance at having missed her target. She stumbled unevenly to her feet, trying to brush the cold snow from her sore legs.

“Why are you even following me?” Hermione turned back to shout at the Snatcher with a venomous rage that belied how truly angry, how utterly exhausted she really was. Everything about her ached, but she wouldn’t let him know that. Wouldn’t let him see. Didn’t ever want for him to have seen her in the first place as anything other than a Gryffindor. She hated that he had, that he had seen that really, Hermione Granger was nothing but a fragile young woman.

“Go away!” Hermione added loudly, just because she had too much anger in her not to scream it out.

“Just makin’ sure yer make it out of ‘ere alive, Sweetheart.” The Snatcher drawled with his silver-laced tongue, his voice a purr. “Wouldn’t want yer t’ fall down ‘nd hurt yourself now, would we?”

Hermione ground her teeth together, managing to prevent herself from screaming at the Snatcher, things that she already had, several times over in the previous few hours. She shook her head and turned, trying not to mumble to herself, aware that she was clearly beginning to look as insane as she actually felt.

“Merlin, I hate you.” Hermione grumbled at the Snatcher, when he followed lazily behind her, his hands in his pockets as he kicked at piles of leaves and snow.

“I know, Princess.” Scabior replied. He was already abundantly aware.

Hermione carried on in silence, unable to do anything about the fact that he was following.

Scabior had no idea why he was following the Granger woman really. All that he knew was that he needed to. Needed to be close to her. Wasn’t ready for her to be gone just yet. He walked along behind her, buried in these thoughts, kicking at the frozen leaves on the forest floor bitterly. As he thought resentfully about the woman in front of him and her need to be away from him, he kicked just that little bit too hard.

Hermione shook her head, her anger fuming silently inside her head as she struggled forward, her limbs complaining in protest, but it wasn’t until a mix of snow and mud accidentally hit her back that she finally lost it. Her mind finally reached its limit and she snapped, completely.  
  
Hermione turned and advanced, on the Snatcher in moments. The Snatcher’s eyes having previously been on the next pile of snow his boot had been about to make contact with. She watched them now widen in alarm as she shoved at him, catching him by surprise enough to make him stumble backwards in disbelief.

A noise that was similar to that of a scream caught in Hermione’s throat, escaping through her teeth as she shoved at the Snatcher again, with everything she had left. She cried out when she fell awkwardly on her damaged ankle, but as he reached forward to assist her, she pushed at him again.

This time Hermione hit at the Snatcher; with all the energy she retained, her hands balled tightly into fists, her knuckles white. Like Ron had flown at Harry the night he had left their side, she was flying at the Snatcher, like nothing could quell her hostile anger.

All the while Scabior reached his arms out to still her, tried to hold her still, but it only worked to anger her further and make them both unstable on the snowy, wet and earthy ground.

Whilst Scabior was a Snatcher and had the natural skills to elude the uneven ground and stay on his feet, that wasn’t when countering the pretty much painless punches from the girl before him. He tried to catch her arms, to steady her when she looked like she was about to fall to the floor unceremoniously, but she didn’t seem to care anymore and just continued to shove him back, unsettling his footing all the more.

Scabior fell, his back slamming into the ground before a cold fist collided with his jaw, blinding him at the surprising hardness of the punch for a second. The young woman above was struggling, trying to get up from where she had sprawled on top of him when he fell, but refusing to cease her assault on him.

As the Granger woman’s booted foot hit his leg painfully, he tried to pull her forward against his chest to prevent her from getting any momentum into her swings but she fought against him wildly, reminding him that he was always sure to be surprised by her. And Scabior _was_ surprised. Particularly so by how hard a couple of the young woman’s punches actually were.

There were no words said or screamed out, from either of them. As Scabior dodged the witch’s scrambling, thrashing form as much as he could all he could hear was the wind in the trees and their ragged panting as they fought against each other in the cold. The odd mumbled, strangled sound came from between her gritted teeth, but she wouldn’t still long enough for him to see more than her riotous curls and pale lips.

Though Scabior tried to still the Granger woman above him, he didn’t tell her to stop. Knew he had no right, not when he had so often ignored her pleas.

After several frenzied moments had passed, Scabior’s back now wet from the snow that had seeped up through the areas of his body uncovered by his coat, he was waiting for the Granger woman to lose her fight and losing it she was. Maybe not the fight exactly, but definitely the energy. Her struggling was a lot weaker now, and more noise was coming out from between her lips, beginning to sound too close to sobbing.  
  
Hermione was losing it.

Losing the fight, her energy and above all, her mind.

Hermione just couldn’t comprehend it. Couldn’t understand that Snatcher and couldn’t make him out with his constant indecisiveness. It was just too much for her. Too much to be given the promise of freedom after so long in his care, (if that was what it could even be described as,) only to have it torn away from her again.

The Snatcher wanted Hermione, then he didn’t, then he did, then he didn’t, and she couldn’t still the spinning of her head anymore. Couldn’t help the clenched fist that caused him to bite a hole into his lip and surprisingly, other than trying to calm her rage, he wasn’t stopping her. He wasn’t forcing her to stop. And Merlin, how she knew he could.

Hermione was finally beginning to weaken, finally beginning to slow her punches against him when she noticed him tense. Noticed him tense and in the briefest second it took for her eyes to seek his, to see them widen, he had rolled her over and trapped her body beneath his. A hand clasped over her mouth, his body pressing them both close to the ground.

But the Snatcher’s eyes weren’t on her.

Staring back at him, ignoring how wet her cheeks still were, ignoring the trail of tears still burning tracks down her cheeks, Hermione could see that the Snatcher’s attention had moved to somewhere over to her right. He was looking somewhere beyond the bushes they now lay behind and she could feel the tension in his muscles, all coiled and ready to strike at a moment’s notice. She almost _feel_ how he had slowed his breathing to quieten his breath. Her blood ran cold. Not just cold. Colder, ice within her veins. Because she had been cold before, bitterly so, but now it wasn’t just her skin that was freezing.  
  
It disturbed Hermione when she saw it. The Snatcher’s stubbled jaw was set, his features all the same, but she could see it in his eyes, something she wouldn’t have noticed from him before. There was a flicker of fear in them, one that made her still beneath him, ignoring how much she hated him. How she burned where his skin touched her flesh. How everything about being that close to him was all too familiar now.

And it sickened Hermione to realise, but she ignored how reassured she felt to have him there, pinning her to the forest floor, knowing that the only thing between her and other horrors was him.

Sure enough, Hermione could hear a noise now, as the Snatcher kept his hand pressed to her lips, peering up and through the bushes. She could hear the undeniable sound of footsteps crunching in the snow of the dense forest, cracking sticks as someone or some _thing_ walked slowly through it.

Hermione held her breath as the Snatcher above her glanced down at her, her heart in her throat.

Did he want her? Or didn’t he?  
  
Fuck.

Scabior hadn’t heard of plans for any of the Snatchers to be making their way through that forest, but sure enough there was one standing not far in front of him. Young, pimply, gangly, probably too light on his feet to do much against a bigger built man like him, but that wasn’t his concern. As he watched the young man as he stalked on, too slowly for Scabior’s liking, he took a moment to consider that maybe the best thing to do would be to hand the girl over to him.

Be rid of her. Get that tempting, tantalizing taste away from him.

Scabior glanced down at the young woman beneath him, his plan almost fully formed, when he hesitated. In his efforts to quieten the girl and watch the pimply kid, somehow, he had failed to notice that his hand was wet. Pale skin was shining back at him from his fingers, where her salt-stained tears had washed the mud and earth from his hands. Ribbons of them marred her cheeks and although her eyes still burned brilliantly at him, they were wet- drowned out eyes. She knew what he was thinking, and she still hated him far too much to even grace him with a silent plea.  
  
No. Scabior was glad of that. Glad she wouldn’t. Glad that she still hadn’t given up the fight. Whatever fight that she had left inside her, she was going to need it.

  
“Hey!”  
  
The younger Snatcher suddenly whirled around, firing a rogue hex in Scabior’s direction as he called over to him. Scabior hurriedly repelled it, frowning at the youngster and yelling back at him.

“Oi! What yer tryin’ t’ do, boy?”

Scabior noted the recognition on the young man’s face as Scabior stepped out from behind the bushes. The youngster hurried back in fear, recognising the man that had suddenly appeared before him and realizing that the voice belonged to that of his superior.

“S-s-sorry. S-startled me sir.” The young man wiped his nose on his sleeve after bowing his head, obviously scared of the older man. Scabior could use that to his advantage.

“What yer doin’ out here?” Scabior asked, trying to sound lazy and bored, keeping the tone of obvious interest from his voice. Luckily this boy looked a potion short of a few ingredients.

“Lord Malfoy asked a few of us to branch out…” The younger man began but Scabior cut him off in annoyance.

“ _Lord_ Malfoy?” Scabior questioned indignantly. “ _Lord_? Boy, the only one who deserves that title is the Dark Lord. Malfoy certainly ent no lord.”

“S-sorry, Sir.” The simpering kid mumbled, sniffing and wiping at his nose again.  
  
“So are there more of yer ‘round ‘ere?” Scabior asked, feigning interest. Secretly his heart was racing with unfathomable dread.

“Yeah, ten of us in all. Want me to go and get them?” The kid was obviously eager to be out of Scabior’s presence.

“Nah. No need. Keep up th’ good work. I’ll take over ‘ere. Yer go to the south.” Scabior instructed, pointing the direction out to youth before turning to wander in a different direction to where he’d left the Granger woman, grateful when the boy disapparated almost instantly.  
  
“Fuck.”

Scabior breathed the word before hurrying back to where he’d left the young woman, now crouching behind the same hedge that they had been fighting behind. He approached hurriedly; his mind too occupied to begin to feel bad about her tears. He grabbed her upper arm and pulled her to her feet.

“C’mon. Yer heard ‘im. They’re gonna be all over the place.” Scabior mumbled, looking back in the direction the youngster had last been seen in, too distracted.

Suddenly the Granger woman snatched her arm back, making him turn and look at her in surprise.

“I only have t’ touch yer for a second love. Just so we can disapparate back t’ the hut.” Scabior scowled back at the young witch, still annoyed that he longed for her touch so much and his still obviously disgusted her.  
  
“I’m not going.”  
  
Stubborn little chit.  
  
Did the woman really hate him that much? That much that she was willing to risk at least ten Snatchers just in order to be away from him!  
  
_Well fuck that and fuck her._

Suddenly the Snatcher bent forward and Hermione let out a gasp as suddenly his arms were wrapped around her legs and her feet weren’t on the ground anymore. Her world spun as he flung her over his shoulder but before she could argue any further, she heard the tell-tale popping noise before the gut-wrenching sensation of disapparation.  
  
That son-of-a…

“What the hell are you doing?” Hermione yelled at the Snatcher as he waited in the clearing by the cabin, searching for any sign of other Snatcher’s in the area.

“Shut up.” The Snatcher snarled at Hermione before apparently deeming it safe to carry her effortlessly towards the door of the cabin. Hermione slapped her hands down against the back of his cold, wet coat. “Let me go! You let me go right now!”  
  
“Yer wanna go and be presented t’ Malfoy wit’ a bow on? Coz if yer go back out there that’s what’s gonna happen, and if I’m not mistaken yer said that yer didn’t wanna go to Malfoy.”

Scabior remembered the words he had said to the young woman that terrible night that he had done the unforgivable and lost any chance of redemption in her eyes.  
  
_Let me keep you._  
  
“I hate you!”  
  
“I know.” Scabior growled back.  
  
“I _really_ hate you!”  
  
“I _know_.”

Scabior held onto the Granger woman tightly with one hand while the other pulled his wand from the confines of his coat pocket. He flicked it hurriedly at the door as he approached, unlocking it before kicking the door open with his booted foot. He waited until he had locked it after them before he set her down on the floor. He braced himself, waiting for the continuation of the fight, but to his astonishment she didn’t kick or shove or scream at him.

Scabior watched, slightly bewildered as the Granger woman silently pulled her coat off as he did the same. He flicked his wand at the fireplace to make flames spring from the wood that lay there. She was pulling off her boots silently when he hung his coat up, turning to take hers from her.  
  
It was too silent and too civil, as Hermione handed the Snatcher her coat. But she was too done. Too done with being tired and too done with the screaming and the shouting. She had no energy left from it. The last of her energy had been sapped from her the moment the Snatcher used side-along apparition to bring her back to the cabin. She had made it so far, starving and exhausted, only to have it taken from her the second he’d heard those other footsteps.

Hermione walked defeatedly over to the sofa, where she collapsed onto it, her eyes staring at the flames in the fireplace. She couldn’t even find it in herself to care when the Snatcher approached her, sinking into the seat beside her. Not touching. But close. Closer than she had chosen to willingly be to him in a while, other than when she was punching him in the face of course.  
  
Silence.  
  
Blessed, unadulterated silence. Appreciated and needed and altogether they were both endlessly grateful that neither of them had words left. So, they sat, in the cosy warm light of the flickering fire, warming themselves. All the while knowing that their place of hiding, that place which was both a prison and a sanctuary from the world outside was now at risk.

But they were too tired. Too done. Too quiet and too cold.

Whatever risks were coming, whatever they would have to plan, they would do so later. Later when they had to wake from the dreamlike state they had fallen into. Like falling beneath water, like drowning but being able to breathe. They were underwater, floating. Warm and drowsy and resting their aching bones.  
  
No. Risks would have to wait.

 

 

 

 

 


	26. Lusting

[ ](https://imgur.com/QLTV8K8)

New A/N: Hey sorry for the delays in updates at the moment. Sorting a lot of things out before I head to hospital on the 13th. It was also my birthday, so I spent some time with my other half and updates took a back seat. I hope you’re still enjoying the fic. Please let me know what you think?

My Tumblr- <https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gryffindorgirl7777>  
My email- Gryffindorgirl2010@hotmail.co.uk

  
Original A/N: Sorry it’s been so very long since my last update. You see I was working on another project.  
I have written the first book of a series and am hoping to start a BA Hons English Language degree in the new year.  
I love you all and send many apologies for the lack of updates. I also send a lot of thank yous to those of you who continued to message, email and review to encourage me to update. I hope you like it and don’t worry; this story isn’t finished, I had the story plot planned out from the start. I just had a hiatus to work on my book is all ☺  
Merry xmas and Happy New Year! Xxxxx  
B x

  
CURRENTLY UN-BETA READ

**Chapter Twenty-six**

**  
Lusting**

 

Perhaps Hermione should have been surprised at the civility that unfolded between her and the Snatcher over the next couple of days. Perhaps it should have surprised her when she was quiet and polite back to him. But they were too tired. Too tired to argue and fight and scream out loud anymore.

Hermione had slept a lot in the days following her short excursion in the forest, recovering from the wet and cold that was the outside world. She had to remind herself that she would see that again. She would feel the wind on her face, the earth beneath her fingers. She had to remind herself that winter couldn’t last forever, and neither could her captivity.

When Hermione had fallen asleep on the sofa the following day, she woke to find herself covered with a blanket and the pile of logs by the fire replenished. The Snatcher remained gone until nightfall, when he returned, holding a clump of ice to a bruise on his temple. He hadn’t spoken about how he became injured and she never asked.

Hermione could tell that the Snatcher was pissed off and agitated but unlike before he didn’t take his anger out on her. In fact, he had surprised her when he merely unlocked the storage closet, grabbed the axe he’d hidden in there and returned to the forest to chop more firewood. It had puzzled her at first, because they already had wood cut for the fire. It didn’t dawn on her that what he was doing was keeping his distance, trying to control his anger, until she stood at the kitchen window and watched him.

That man truly and utterly bewildered her.

Not able to comprehend the Snatcher at all, Hermione turned her attention to the food he had stored in the cabin. She managed to scrape enough together to make some soup, chopping the mouldy ends from the vegetables with a cutlery knife.

When the Snatcher returned from the cold darkness of the forest he stood at the door for a moment, the axe on his shoulder. He had looked directly at her and Hermione stilled to look directly back. Instead of angry the man just looked exhausted. Hermione’s hand had tightened around the cutlery knife automatically, her heart beating faster as it always did under his gaze.

Hermione expected him to shout at her. To approach her and man-handle her in the same manner as usual, but to her amazement he had merely turned away and returned the axe to the storage closet. She’d watched him curiously for a moment, waiting for more of a reaction, but it never came.

Over the following days Hermione and the Snatcher had fallen into something resembling a routine. He would leave in the morning, returning sometimes to check on her wordlessly at around midday, eating the portion of food she saved for him. Then he would return, return to the madness, the darkness, that haunting, cold world outside.

The Snatcher did surprise Hermione when one night he returned, not saying a word as he threw a book down gently onto the sofa beside her, before preparing the tub for a bath.

A book. Hermione had been starving for literature since the moment the Snatcher had brought her to the cabin, and she had found that there was not a book in sight. She had stared at it for a moment before snatching it up quickly, afraid that he might take it back. She didn’t even care what the book was about, just that it had precious words that could provide her with a few treasured moments of escapism.

Hermione had read the book cover to cover and the Snatcher appeared to notice because the following day, he brought back another for her to devour.

“Th-thank you.” Hermione had said cautiously, the third time the Snatcher had returned with a book. He had replied with a grunt and a nod of the head, apparently happy to leave her to consume it. She had curled up on the sofa again, the blanket wrapped around her as she fell inside the book, sinking into the world the words created for her.

“Scabior.” The Snatcher had finally spoken, making her look up in confusion from the book in her hands. “Yer can call me Scabior.”

Whether the Snatcher had expected a response or not he said nothing further to her and Hermione said nothing to him. She wasn’t even sure if he knew her name, but she was not about to give him permission to use it. Not after… everything.

So, the two of them continued, still living the charade that they were pretending was normal. Not once did Hermione forget her boys. Harry. Ron.  
  
Where were they?  
  
All Hermione could do was hope that the boys had carried on the mission that Dumbledore had given them without her, that they weren’t wasting time on her rescue.

The fourth day the Snatcher brought her another book; Hermione decided to throw caution to the wind. She did not want the shouting and the screaming to return, but the silence was now deafening to her.

“Um…” Hermione had begun, unsure and wary as the Snatcher turned his attention to her.

Scabior had been sitting beside the Granger woman on the sofa, his chin resting on his hand as he stared at the fire pensively.

When Scabior had thrown the first book down onto the sofa for the young woman to read, he hadn’t expected it to bring her such joy. It made him oddly satisfied to see the slight smile on her face as her eyes traced the words on the pages. The fact that he had made her smile, even indirectly, had sparked something warm inside him. If he didn’t know better, he would say that she was melting his ice-cold heart. But he did know better. Knew that he didn’t have one and if he did it had become shrivelled, blackened and charred a very long time ago.

Scabior had been thinking about the increase of patrols, about how Lucius Malfoy seemed to be playing Snatchers against each other. Sowing seeds of distrust. He was still delirious with the need to capture The-Boy-Who-Lived, the blood-traitor and the Mudblood that had escaped from the hands of the Death Eaters. He seemed particularly fixated on the woman still, causing a prickling bubble of rage to boil within Scabior whenever the bastard brought her up. For Potter and the blood-traitor to have fled from the arms of the Dark Lord’s most loyal followers was one thing. For the _Mudblood_ to have escaped them was just unthinkably offensive to them. It was humiliating to them; the adolescent’s escape had injured Lucius’s pride and now he was seeking his revenge.

They had been lucky so far that the cabin hadn’t been stumbled upon already and Scabior had been careful to take the only other watch that had come up in the area. But he couldn’t keep them safe forever. Someone was bound to stumble onto them eventually.

Scabior had been considering where he and the young woman beside him could retreat to next, when she had suddenly spoken, making him look up and over at her. The brown-haired beauty was curled up on the sofa beside him, facing him, because she still couldn’t trust him, couldn’t let her guard down and he still couldn’t blame her for that.

Scabior’s eyes raked across the Granger woman’s smooth curls, freshly washed from the bath he had prepared for her earlier, and of course he had withdrawn behind the hanging bedsheet despite having already seen her naked. Her skin gleamed in the light of the fire, hidden mostly beneath the burgundy, baggy jumper. The rest of her was hidden beneath the blanket she had wrapped around herself, looking cosy and comfortable.

“Hmm?” Scabior questioned tiredly, when he took in how timid the young woman looked before him. She was nibbling on her bottom lip, making it harder for him to keep his eyes on hers.

Hermione was wondering how to begin. She had so many questions whirling around her head that she wasn’t sure where to start. She decided to ask the question that had been bothering her most.

“Can you… Can you please tell me what happened to Harry and Ron?” The brown-haired beauty asked tentatively, but something about the question irked Scabior. It was most definitely the tone of love and affection when she mentioned the whelp’s names. It grated on him.

“Yer mean after the manor?” Scabior asked her, his voice a little gruff.

“Yes.” Hermione replied, almost breathless as she braced herself for the answer. All she could do was pray that they had made it out alive.

“They got away.” Scabior replied bitterly, tearing his eyes away from the young woman to look at the fire again. He heard her heavy sigh of relief but said nothing as his mind flashed back to the last time he had reported to the manor.

Lucius Malfoy was his usual arrogant and demanding self, but he seemed desperate now, clawing onto the idea of redemption in the eyes of the Dark Lord. Scabior had received a heavy blow to his head with the bastard’s cane because he’d seen hide nor hair of the two adolescents the Granger woman was enquiring about.

Hermione watched as the Snatcher looked away. Was he sulking? She caught the change of atmosphere in the air around them, though she wasn’t sure what she had done wrong.

“And… Have any of you seen them since?” Hermione asked cautiously.

“Nah.” The Snatcher replied bluntly, and Hermione couldn’t help that her lips curled up into a small smile.

They were safe. Harry and Ron were safe. Hermione’s heart swelled with relief and admiration for them. Harry would make sure that Ron didn’t do anything brash to change that, surely? All she could hope was that they had found another horcrux. That they hadn’t wasted time searching for her… despite how that made her heart twinge in her chest a little.

Hermione shifted in her seat, considering how to approach the next question she had. She couldn’t very well tell the Snatcher what they were doing, but she had to know if they’d been at all successful in their hunt.

“And Vol… I mean… the Dark Lord…” Hermione corrected herself when the Snatcher turned back to her and fixed her with a warning glare. “Is he…? Has he been angrier lately?” Hermione asked him cautiously.   

Scabior’s eyebrow raised as he surveyed the young woman before him. Was she mad? The Dark Lord was _always_ angry. He watched her closely as she waited for his answer, giving nothing away.

“No more than usual.”

Scabior watched as the Granger woman slumped in disappointment. Yes. She was definitely insane. What person in their right mind would express displeasure at hearing that the Dark Lord hadn’t blown his lid recently?

Hermione sagged in disappointment when she heard the Snatcher’s answer. That meant that Harry and Ron had yet to find another horcrux. She turned away to look at the fire, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth as she thought to herself.

Dumbledore and Harry had been so certain that Helga Hufflepuff’s cup had been a horcrux. Hermione had been thinking about it for a while. She’d had more than enough time to theorise that the cup had been placed in Bellatrix Lestrange’s supervision. The woman had been so terrified at the idea of them being in her vault at Gringotts. There had to be a reason. Voldemort had placed his diary in the hands of Lucius Malfoy without telling him that it was a horcrux, so it made sense that he may have put another horcrux under the protection of one of his most dedicated servants.

Voldemort had trusted Bellatrix and her husband. They were his most devoted servants before he fell and had gone searching for him after he vanished. From what Harry had said, Tom Riddle had never had any money when he was young. Perhaps he envied anyone with a Gringotts key? Hermione remembered their first year of school, how Hagrid had told Harry that Gringotts was the safest place in the world for anything you want to hide… except for Hogwarts.

Yes. It made sense to her that Voldemort would have placed the cup in Bellatrix’s care, telling her that it was a treasured possession that he wanted kept safe. The woman was clearly besotted with the despot, she would probably die in order to protect it for him.

Scabior watched the Granger woman closely as she considered his answer. He could practically hear the cogs turning in her head but remained oblivious as to why she’d asked. What was she up to? She and the two pubescent schoolboys had been up to something when he’d stumbled upon her in the forest, they had to be. Why else would they have been wandering around the woods, and visiting that Lovegood loon of all people?

“What’re you up to?” Scabior found himself asking the question out loud. He interrupted her from her reverie, and she turned to him, a little alarmed.

“Nothing.” The young woman told Scabior, her eyes bright as she attempted a poker face. She was so transparent. He grunted at her in response before speaking.

“Sure you are.”

“I’m not up to anything.” Hermione countered, shifting in her seat once again, because she was uncomfortable being caught in his scrutinising stare once more.

“Right… that’s why yer were caught in the woods. ‘Cause you were up t’ nothin’.”

Scabior fixed the Granger woman with a look as he let the sarcasm drip from his words, observing the girl as she squirmed under his gaze. She looked like a schoolgirl, caught breaking the rules and being reprimanded.

“I told you. We were hiding.” Hermione lied again.

“Right.”

Hermione unfurled the blanket from around her, her skin feeling hotter the longer the Snatcher continued to probe her. Those blue-grey eyes were fixed on her, observing her carefully, ready to catch her out, and that disbelieving look on his face told her that she already had been.

“Have… have the boys been sighted anywhere?” Hermione decided to throw caution to the wind. She watched as annoyance flickered in the Snatcher’s eyes again, not understanding why.

Jealousy.

It was a feeling that Scabior was more than familiar with. His jealousy reared its ugly head every time he visited the manor, saw how the other half live, when he was struggling just to scrape by. Now he was aware of it, tearing at him viscerally, all because the Granger woman was talking about those young men.

“Missin’ your little boyfriends?” Scabior taunted her indignantly. He watched as the young woman held his gaze before replying.

“Yes.” Blunt, to the point and honest.

Hermione blanched a little as the Snatcher sneered at her, finally turning his eyes from her and looking towards the fire. Was he sulking? Hermione’s eyes traced his face. Yes. Yes, he was clearly sulking, but she had no idea why. What had she said to anger him now?

“I s’pose you’d much rather be out there in the cold wit’ them, than shut in ‘ere with me?”

Scabior hadn’t meant to say the words out loud, but they had tumbled from his lips regardless. He could feel the woman’s eyes raking his face, her body tensing anxiously as she considered him, and Merlin, how they burned.

Hermione answered him slowly, conscientiously, knowing she was about to make him even more mad.

“Yes.”

The Granger woman’s voice was quiet, but it reverberated around the cabin, around his head, screaming loudly, boring into his bones. Scabior remained still and silent, his eyes glued to the fire while her answer drilled deeper, painful for some reason.

Of course, the young woman he had so ruthlessly captured would rather be out there. Of course, she’d rather be away from him and his brutality. So why then did her words make him ache, most painfully?

Without saying a word, the Snatcher rose from his seat and Hermione jerked away unwittingly. The Snatcher froze, went to look at her, to turn towards her before changing his mind. Saying nothing, the silence penetrating her head, he suddenly moved towards the door.

Grabbing his coat, Hermione watched as the man pulled the front door open, heading out of it before she found the sense to speak. She flinched as the door shut firmly behind him and the silence that followed was almost haunting in the aftermath of their conversation.

The Snatcher was mad and soon enough Hermione heard the tell-tale noise of the axe he’d left outside, hitting wood. She swallowed; her mouth suddenly dry. She felt rung out, just because she’d spoken to him. She worried about his retribution, but really, what had he expected her to say?

Given the choice, Hermione would always choose her freedom. Would always choose Harry, because he was the answer, to so many problems. She had proven her loyalty, remaining at Harry’s side when Ron had asked her to leave with him, and how she had longed to. How she had loved him and how broken her heart had been to watch him disapparate, leaving her standing alone in the rain. Hermione would always choose Harry, because he was the only one with even the semblance of a plan. He was the answer, the one that stood between Voldemort and the rest of the wizarding world.

Sitting there, listening to the sound of wood being chopped, Hermione felt numb. That man had a habit of leaving her breathless, of leaving her bereft of thought. Her eyes stared at the fire, unseeing as she shifted uncomfortably.

Hermione knew now that there was no way that Harry and Ron had found another horcrux. The Snatcher would have heard of the Dark Lord’s fury by now. So, she could only hope that the boys understood where they needed to go and what they needed to do.

After an hour had passed and the Snatcher hadn’t returned, Hermione got changed and crawled into the bed. She wrapped the blanket around herself, her nose in her book. Her eyes traced the words but didn’t take in a word.

Why was the Snatcher so angry at her? What had Hermione said that he hadn’t already expected to hear? The man truly baffled her, and she hated being unable to understand. Did he really think that she’d say no? That she’d rather be trapped in that cabin with him? Locked in there with him where he had so freely accosted her, taunting and tormenting her, with his words and his tongue?

No. Because Hermione was pretty sure that deep down, she was still sane. That even though a part of her sordidly longed for the perverse touch of that man, there was still a part of her that stalwartly refused to submit to him. Why didn’t he understand the importance of Harry’s victory over Voldemort? That he _had_ to defeat that monster? Did he really believe that Voldemort’s triumph would lead to a better life for him?

As far as Hermione could tell, working for that snake-like tyrant obviously wasn’t paying off. She was pretty certain that the Snatcher was still stealing food for the two of them to eat and even then, the amount was measly and sparse. Did he really believe that the servitude or the death of witches like her, muggle-borns, was for the best? Perhaps he did, because he had tried to get her washing his clothes and cooking his meals. Maybe that’s all he saw when he looked at her- A slave.

It had been late that night when the Snatcher had returned. The chill from outside the cabin woke Hermione as he walked through the door. She had stiffened, remained curled up on one side of the bed, waiting for that retribution that so had often followed their disagreements. But none came. The Snatcher had merely taken off his coat, before collapsing on the sofa, not even glancing at her. Because she always knew when his eyes were on her, could feel it beneath her skin as her blood rushed, animated just because she was under his gaze. 

And so, the two of them had both returned to silence, letting it eat away between them.

Scabior could feel the tension around the two of them. It was palpable. Every time he laid his eyes on the Granger woman, she shifted uncomfortably and if his eyes met hers, she would look away. Salazar help him, he had no idea why that bothered him so much. Why it felt so much like he was so beneath her that she wouldn’t even deem him deserving of her glance. Like she found him so revolting that she wouldn’t taint herself by letting her eyes meet his…   
  
Why it felt so much like rejection.

However the young woman felt about him, it wasn’t as though Scabior could simply be rid of her now. Coming across that young Snatcher in the woods had disconcerted him. It was just too risky for the Granger woman to leave the hut again. With the way she traipsed through the forest she would be found instantly. She seemed to know that without an explanation from him and she seemed so intent on ignoring his very existence now and so Scabior stayed quiet, returning to the world that he belonged in... and it was so damn dark out there. The world was crumbling around him.

Each day Scabior returned to cold, dark, stone walls. Returned to the hell that was the Malfoy Manor, reporting in before he turned back, falling into that repetitive, drowning misery that had become his job. Something that had once left him with a sense of predatory glee now made him feel sick. But he had to continue. Had to keep up the act. He was no longer just a predator. He felt a little ill at the realization but couldn’t deny it- he was a protector now as well. He was the only thing standing between that delicate young woman, and the pain and anguish that was now a dark, dark world.

Scabior continued his pursuit of the Muggle-borns. Kept snatching like expected of him. But he became more and more thankful for that little bit of blessed light that he could revel in when he returned to that cabin. Merlin, he was tired, but it was enough now, just to look at that young woman, just to bask in that light- that burning, brilliant light that she gave off just by existing.  
  
One night Scabior came back to the cabin a little earlier than she expected. The Granger girl looked up from the book she was reading, sat in front of the fire on the sofa where she had taken to sitting most evenings. All she did was look at him, but that silent acknowledgment was enough for the both of them.

Scabior nodded slightly as he shrugged his wet jacket from his shoulders, grabbing a towel from the bathroom to rub at his rain-soaked hair. He looked over at the Granger woman, who’s attention had returned to her book. She seemed engrossed in it as she held it close to her, like she was clinging onto it, like they were clinging onto their remaining sanity.

Remaining silent, Scabior took his shirt off, using his wand to magically hang it up in front of the fire to dry. His wet waistcoat dropped to the floor as he watched the young woman that was so incessantly trying to escape, trying to submerge herself in whatever book he had picked up for her the day before. Surely, she had read it three times over by now.

Scabior rubbed the towel over his frizzy wet hair, surveying the Granger woman as he did so. She was dressed; dress, jumper, socks… but he still saw through that. Knew exactly what she looked like underneath. Knew the curves of her body, the delicate softness of her creamy skin.

“How many times are yer gonna read that book love?” Scabior asked, making the young woman look up at him.

Hermione hated that lump in her throat that she had to swallow when she saw the Snatcher standing before her; topless, toned and well defined. She’d been aware of his presence ever since he moved towards the sofa, always wary of him. But Hermione seemed to have difficulty tearing her eyes from his topless form, eyes tracing the scratches and scars, the tattoos and the line of dark hair that trailed lower.  
  
“Until you get me another one.”  
  
The Granger woman’s reply came as he threw the towel onto the arm of the sofa beside her. They were close, had been in close proximity to each other for so long now, and yet that tension still hung in the air around them, impossible for them not to notice it.

“Who said I was gonna do that?” Scabior retorted at her assumption, but the Granger woman merely shrugged at him in response, returning her eyes to the pages of the book.

“What’s this one anyway?” Scabior suddenly snatched the book from the Granger woman, frowning at the cover. He had paid no attention to it when he took it, he had wanted only to be responsible for the way her eyes lit up each time he had returned to her with another one. He wanted to be the reason for that slight smile that crept over her features. He’d not even bothered to check what books he was picking up for her and why the thought had so suddenly occurred to him to care, he didn’t know.

 _The Oppression of Half-breeds, Half-blood Wizards and those of Impure Blood._  
  
Scabior sneered to himself as he read the peeling gold letters on the old and battered cover of the book. He almost let out a bark of laughter, because it was typical, just bloody typical that he’d just so happened to pick up _that_ book.

 _Salazar Slytherin, you have got to be kidding me_.

Out of the millions of books that were published in the world, Scabior had unknowingly picked up that one. Merlin, the woman had practically studied the bloody thing! If she had access to a quill and parchment, he could bet that she would make notes on it!

Scabior looked down as the Granger woman sighed, huffing but waiting patiently with her hand out for him to return the book to her.

“Can I have it back?” The young woman asked, an air of impatience in her voice.

“No. Stop readin’ that crap.” Scabior huffed, trying to ignore the memories that were rising within him.  
  
“That _crap_ , is an ideology that you and your ilk seem to share, so if you don’t mind, I’d like it back.” The Granger woman snapped back at him as he stared down at her, too many memories too close to the surface.

Those eyes pierced her, icy-cold grey and blue as always, but there was a darkness in them that Hermione recognised. She had seen before, the night he had returned from Malfoy Manor, beaten and broken and out of control.

“Why the ‘ell are yer reading it then?” The Snatcher demanded, the volume of his voice rising, making her tense with apprehension.

“Because I like to understand things.”

The young woman’s voice was quiet and small, but Scabior heard her clearly.

“I’m trying to understand why anyone would ever feel that way… get a different perspective.”

Hermione didn’t like the tone of almost-pleading in her voice as she spoke all too quiet after his outburst. It was true though. That had been the only reason that she’d even considered giving the book any of her attention. That and the utter boredom that staying cooped up inside had brought her.

If Hermione hadn’t looked up, she may have missed the flicker of _something_ in the Snatcher’s eyes as he surveyed her carefully. His eyes bored into hers, burning into her skull as though trying to read her mind.

Scabior stared at the woman. She wanted to _understand?_ Why? What did she hope to gain by reading about it? What knowledge could the book possibly depart on her? And _why_ did she want to understand?

_Maybe she wants to understand you?_

The voice that murmured back at Scabior from the depths of his Granger-addled mind made his stomach flip with some sort of inexplicable glimmer of hope. Yet he stamped that light and airy feeling back down to the depths from which it came. He wasn’t a fool. There was no way that the woman was reading it in the hopes of gaining insight into his mind. She couldn’t be.

Hermione stayed silent as she waited, unable to read the expressions even in those clear eyes of his. Suddenly her eyes widened in shock when the Snatcher abruptly hurled the old and tattered book into the fire.

The abject horror and objection were written across the Granger woman’s face for Scabior to see. Her mouth was agape, her eyes wide as she looked from him to the book that was quickly being consumed by the fire, the pages curling and blackened. She opened and closed her mouth, apparently so stunned that she was unable to form words for a moment. Then she jumped to her feet, turning back to face him, the frown on her face deep as those flames came ablaze in her chocolate brown eyes. Her hands clenched into fists and he noted that she took deep breaths to calm herself down.  
  
They looked up at each other, deafening silence bearing down on them.

“You shouldn’t read tha’ shit.” Scabior finally grumbled before turning to move across the room.

Hermione couldn’t help the frown, and being her usual, enquiring self she couldn’t help the questions, the ones that spilled from her lips before she’d stopped to think about them.

“If you think it’s shit then why on earth are you doing the exact same thing?”

The Snatcher stilled on the spot at hearing Hermione’s words, turning slowly, eyes still dark, still staring. She found herself frozen in place, waiting with bated breath for all hell to break loose.

“I don’t get it.” Hermione breathed quickly, much quieter this time, softer. She didn’t have to remind herself of what had happened the last time she’d seen that glint inside his eyes.

“’Course yer don’t, Princess. I bet yer never went one day without the things yer wanted or needed. I bet yer lived your cosy lil’ life completely blind to those in classes beneath yer.”  
  
Hermione frowned at him, trying to understand but failing, because things had never been like that. She had been fortunate, yes. She had been born into a family that loved her dearly. They had cared for her and provided for her, but she’d had her own share of that darkness. She had been the bullied child in the playground, and that hadn’t changed at Hogwarts. Not until she’d met Harry and Ron. Not until they rescued her from that troll and their friendship had been formed and bound them.

Hermione had begun an initiative at school when she realised the unfair treatment of House-Elves. S.P.E.W had been all about protecting those that others deemed beneath them. She had practically delivered the bigot that was Umbridge to a whole herd of centaurs, only for the toad-like woman to spit obscenities at them. Words about half-breeds and their inferiority

That was without mentioning the darkness that Hermione had found herself drowning in because of the Death Eaters, because of the prejudice surrounding her blood. Just because muggle blood ran through her veins… and why they wished to spill it when it so disgusted them, was beyond her.

“You don’t know anything about my life.” Hermione finally replied, almost disappointed that she had to have this argument with him. “You have no idea. _No_ idea what I’ve experienced. Don’t just assume that my life was perfect.”

“Bet it was though, once upon a time, Princess. Bet yer had no worries in th’ world wit’ your little boyfriends at your side.”

Hermione couldn’t refute that, because things had always been better with Harry and Ron at her side. Merlin, she missed those boys, missed their faces. She missed Harry's honesty, his kindness- knew he could talk her out of this insanity she had fallen into. She missed Ron's freckles, his burning ears when he caught her glancing in his direction. She knew he would have cheered her up, made her laugh. Instead she was alone, swallowing down the rising tide of guilt within her. Tried to calm her rapidly beating heart, swallowing again as her eyes drank in the shirtless, toned and  _dangerous_  Snatcher before her. 

“You mentioned class… why do you keep referring to it? Because, from what I can understand, you came from the lower class, made your way up… but if that’s the case, why on earth are you persecuting people from the same class you started in? This isn’t all about blood status is it? This involves the societal structure of the wizarding world as well. What is it you’re trying to do?”

“I’m just tryin’ to do my bloody job!” Scabior suddenly roared out, snapping. “Alright? I’m no hero, what a shock _that_ must be to yer.” He added sardonically.

The young woman stared back, flinching as he shouted, eyes wide with fear and those damn eyes, they burned too bright with something too similar to disappointment.

“Why are you helping them?” The Granger woman barely breathed, too scared to speak up now and Scabior knew that she was thinking back, remembering all those other times he’d snapped. Damn it. He’d been doing so well. Even in her presence he had managed to keep his cool… but now his blood was burning again.

“I need money to live, love! There’s no other way. What’s the point in siding wit’ the losers. There’s no way to beat him! It’s not like anyone else was givin’ a fuck. No one else was trying to change the system. I’m just thinkin’ of the future, ensuring that I’m still a-bloody-live!”

And yes, that was definitely disappointment in those cinnamon coloured eyes; burning, blazing far too brightly. With the resounding echoes of Scabior’s memories, clawing out at him at the back of his head and those eyes glowing before him, all he wanted to do was scratch them out. Scratch out those damned bright eyes, scratch out the disappointment that was grating at him. Because seeing that from her made him feel sick and he couldn’t fathom why. Knew it shouldn’t bother him.

“Nothing’s ever going to change if you think like that.” Hermione said softly, taking a step back, because she was regretting starting the whole conversation. When would she learn to keep her damn mouth shut just as Snape had constantly suggested back in school? Those questions were too loud not to speak but she was regretting it, wishing she had somewhere to retreat to.

“Really?” The Snatcher’s tone was cold, dark. “Yer think yer gonna change the world do yer, love?” He asked snidely, stepping closer to Hermione as she stood before him. “How exactly are yer proposing t’ do that? ‘Cause as I see it, you’re just one little woman…” He looked her slowly up and down. “An’ a helpless one at that”

“I’m not helpless.” Hermione murmured defiantly, noticing that she’d taken too many steps backwards, close to the table now. The Snatcher’s tall and topless body was imposing, reminding her of why they’d kept the silence.

_Why in the hell did you open your big mouth?_

But that inner voice inside Hermione’s head was drowned out by the furious beating of her heart. A mix of fear, anger and exhilaration had set the hair of her arms on end. She could feel that familiar tingle of electricity rising between them once again, making her breathless. Making her want…

“Really?” Scabior repeated. His blood was burning again, that coiling tension in every muscle as he approached the Granger woman, noticing when she shrunk back. The hunter and his prey. He heard a small whimper that escaped from her closed lips, somewhere deep within her throat as she stepped back once more, hitting the table. Slowly he reached his arms out, placing his hands on the table either side of her. Close. So deliciously close to her.

“I’m going to change things. We will. We’ll end all this.” Hermione spoke so quietly, but her eyes were on his, glued, entranced. “Harry, Ron and I…”

But Scabior cut her off.

Couldn’t bear to hear another man’s name on that woman’s lips. Too suddenly Scabior’s hand was in her hair, his lips crashing down on hers. _Hungry_. The only word to describe how he felt as his mouth devoured hers. It felt like a lifetime ago since he’d had that taste on his tongue.

Hermione’s eyes fell shut as the Snatcher’s lips collided with hers, brutal and punishing. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t still the heavy beating of her heart. She should push him back, push him away but her anger was still seething deep beneath her skin and she found herself kissing back, trying to return the same sentiments. Punish him. Somewhere, at the back of her head, the only place where her insanity didn’t reign, the sane part of her was screaming.

_What are you doing? He’s the enemy. The enemy and you can’t… you can’t have…_

The kiss was merciless. Scabior’s lips brushed against hers, teeth scraping at the Granger woman’s bottom lip before he tried to still her tongue with his. Still her tongue to stop her from speaking about all those callous things. Things she clearly didn’t understand. Kiss her to kill her, to leave her utterly bereft of words that had somehow triggered something deep inside his chest.

So shockingly, astonishingly, Scabior found the Granger woman’s hands in his wet hair. She was pulling him into her, drowning in the need that he had so often denied himself and yet she was succumbing to.

Hermione hated herself. Hated, hated, hated… but couldn’t deny that sensation anymore, and she didn’t know until the Snatcher kissed her that she had been waiting so desperately for it. She was- desperate. Because she was coming undone around him, _because_ of him and she didn’t want it to be the case but just look at her. Look at what she was doing. Who she was becoming, because something about this was twisted, sordid and so irreparably shameful. Yet here she was, her hand entangled in his wet and frizzy hair, her other hand pressed against his naked chest and she was kissing him. Wild. Free and with frenzied abandonment.

Tongues on lips, lips and the stroking of wet tongue. Drowning, suffocating; on each other and on the need. So suddenly they were burning, blood rushing beneath their veins. Hatred, desire, too much forbidden passion that was reigning them in… corrupting them both. That desperate need had broken free again and so suddenly that tension ceased to be silent. It was screaming at them now. Gnawing at them, the heat within them rising.

Hermione let the Snatcher’s hands grab her arse, let him lift her onto the table, like she was outside herself, out of her head and out of her mind. Her chest pressed against his, feeling the smooth skin beneath her fingers as they trailed up his arm as he moved closer to her, his long legs pressed between hers.

Wild, furious and frenzied. They were like animals, slaves to the passion. All sense and sensibility had melted away leaving only heat. They were lost to the need and unbridled desire within. Delirious with it.

Scabior breathed in the young woman’s scent, her taste. That intoxication. He was letting her poison him again, knowing that each time he had that taste, the more he craved it. She was a drug, addictive and dangerous and she was making him unravel.

_What are you doing? What the hell are you becoming?_

The questions in Hermione’s head were loud but the lust was louder. She was breathing the Snatcher in, that scent of earth and evergreens and that hint of _something_ that belonged only to him. His eyes still scalded her inside her head, because that was all she could see and the heat was all she could feel, her skin blazing with fire the longer he kissed her.

The young beauty before Scabior was clinging to him, pulling him against her. As her nails dug into his arm, he let out a low, desperate and guttural growl, pulling his lips from hers. He pressed his lips to her head and just held her there, trying to still the waves crashing over him. Waves of lust, need, desire that essential compulsion that weaved its way between them every time they found themselves too close and crashing together.

“Fuck.” The Snatcher breathed the word against Hermione’s skin as she tried to catch her breath, but she was always breathless around him, always drowning. She realized her hands were clinging to his arms as he held tightly onto her.

“Yer make me hate yer.”

A growl of words against Hermione’s forehead, then her ear as the Snatcher moved to press his lips to her neck.

“You’re too damn pure, too damn innocent and I fuckin’ hate yer for that.” The Snatcher’s hands gripped her tightly, but it wasn’t pain that bothered her as her chest rose and fell heavily.

_What had she done? And what was he trying to say?_

Hermione fought to slow the rapid beating of her heart, fearing that it would burst from her chest at any moment. The pulsing sound of rushing blood was pounding in her head, mixing with the Snatcher’s deep and gravelly voice. She swallowed, couldn’t help but let out a whimper as his lips caressed her neck, sucking in the skin and tainting it with his tongue.

“I even envy yer… how fuckin’ messed up is that?” Scabior questioned, even letting out a small chuckle at the sickness of it all, as he pulled away from the Granger woman’s throat.

“In this fucked up world, in this dark-as-shit pit that I’ve found m’self in, ‘ow is it that you’re so damn pure? So innocent and naïve when I’m so corrupted? How did yer stay so clean, so bright… so immaculately… good?  
  
The Snatcher pulled back and stared at her then and Hermione saw right through him, saw to the pain and the darkness underneath. His eyes were still dark, almost alarmingly so, his arms still gripping onto hers. Hermione still saw the anger, the fury, but this time it was mingled with an indescribable expression of hurt. Her lips parted as she gazed up at him, unsure of what to say or what to do.  

“Why do yer make me want yer, when yer know that all I wanna do is taint you, corrupt you?”

Hermione almost swallowed the gasp that escaped her lips, but she was sure that the Snatcher had heard it. She tried to move then, her hands pushing flat against his naked chest, the forceful and jolting flicker of fear with the pounding and rushing of blood a little too much to handle.

The Snatcher let her push him back, taking one step away as Hermione slipped from the table, hurrying to put that distance back between them once again. To return to the silence where she would question her sanity. But instead of letting her pull away, his hand grasped one of her upper arms and pushed her around, forcing her forward against the table. He closed the remaining distance, pressing his hardened crotch against her arse.

“Given the chance…”

The Snatcher’s deep, rough voice murmured quietly; his mouth close to Hermione’s ear. His breath ghosting against the outer shell of her ear as his rough hands swept her hair back from her neck. He began to lace it with his poisoned kisses, the poison seeping through her skin, tingling her blood. She couldn’t help the shiver that ran from the tip of her head down to her very core. Somewhere she was trying fervently to ignore.  
  
“I would _ruin_ you.”

Hermione couldn’t speak, could barely breath as the Snatcher reached down beneath her dress, brushing his hand up between her legs to that place that was so impetuously crying out for his touch.

_Not the enemy…_

When the rough fingers of the man above her finally reached the apex of Hermione’s thighs, when his fingers brushed against damp lace, she felt her head roll back. Her eyes fell closed as he deftly used his fingers to begin making her come undone beneath him. She felt his raging need, pressed against her bum, heard the rumbling growl he released and felt it run through her.

Too soon the Snatcher was driving Hermione closer to the edge, closer than she already was and so damn close to falling. To falling in and drowning, plummeted into whatever spell… no… _Curse_ , that had been cast between them.  
  
Wouldn’t it be easy?

Wouldn’t it be so easy to for Hermione to just let herself fall? To spread her arms and jump, soaring into the depths of the unknown.

_Can’t have… shouldn’t want…_

But that rational inner voice was drowned out again and so suddenly Hermione was falling, waves crashing around her as she cried out, the waves of pleasure drowning her as the Snatcher's fingers worked their magic.

Too easy. Too easy to just submit.

What should she do?

And wouldn’t it be easy?

Too many tempting thoughts flooded Hermione’s lust-addled brain. Because yes, she could admit it now. She lusted over that man. She quivered at his touch; every time he came close her skin sang in anticipation. He made her breathless, made her want and made her need with a veracity that was terrifying to her.

Hermione was so tired of fighting something that now seemed to be so inevitable. That Snatcher’s poison had reached her bloodstream, reached inside her and rung her out until all that was left of her was tainted, tired and clearly perverse. Because Godric help her, she wanted him, like she had never wanted anyone else. Still didn’t trust him, would never trust him, but that heat was burning her skin making it harder and harder to think, to ignore, to fight against it.

It would be so easy to just submit.

Hermione started suddenly when she heard a belt buckle, felt him lifting her dress higher. And too suddenly it wasn’t so easy. So suddenly a terror gripped her like the vice-tight grip he held her in.  
  
Too desperate.

Too desperate and nothing was enough anymore. Scabior needed more. Needed to feel that wet heat and sweetness on his cock, like he had felt it clamp around his fingers. He couldn’t wait anymore. Didn’t want to and didn’t need to, because that beautiful young woman was lying out before him, pressed against the table moaning out and waiting for him.

But as Scabior freed his cock from the confines of his boxers and slid the lace of the Granger woman’s underwear aside once more, he realized that her body was as still as stone.

That beautiful woman’s wet heat was licking at Scabior’s hardened and aching cock, ready, waiting as he held himself there. He was willing himself to commit the deed, desperate, but also to stop, because she wasn’t calling out now. She wasn’t stopping him, but she was stock-still in terror.

Hermione kept her eyes closed tight and braced herself. Her heart was in her throat, beating furiously. She could feel the Snatcher’s cock between her legs, pressed against her slick folds. The panic and confusion, the screaming voice in the back of her head was overwhelming.

_No. Not the enemy… not him!_

The terror and anticipation were too much. Hermione couldn’t breathe… but just let it be over. Let the unthinkable happen and let it be over. Maybe, just maybe it would break the spell. Maybe then she would be free of that man and the tension that hung between them… maybe.

Scabior stilled, closing his eyes to help reign in his control.  
  
“You’re…” Scabior began, willing the Granger woman not to respond, or to at least respond with the answer he both wanted and didn’t want to hear. Because he was scared if she answered, that her answer would drive him over, push him over the edge, because that was far too tempting. Far too tantalizing.  
  
“You’re not…”

The Snatcher spoke through gritted teeth and his words almost sounded forced. Hermione opened her eyes, staring at the wall opposite her, swallowing down the frenzy and trepidation that she felt now in that moment.

Just let it happen. Let it be over…

“…Not a virgin, are yer?”  
  
But Scabior knew the answer immediately. Knew the answer as soon as he asked it, because he felt that tell-tale quiver that ran through the young woman’s body, felt her tense even more than she was already, her shoulders raised, already close to her ears.

Merlin.

Scabior closed his eyes, had to as the Granger woman peered over her shoulder, those wet, hot eyes staring up at him in what looked like surprise and self-consciousness. The blush that stained her cheeks before his eyes fell closed and his head fell back were almost enough to push him over, to make him commit the sin he so desperately needed to.  
  
  
But couldn’t.

For the life of him Scabior didn’t know why. Didn’t understand why he pushed himself backwards, pulling away from her and scrambled back into his trousers, returning his rock-hard cock to the confines of his boxers. He took one look back at the beautiful woman, saw the shock and surprise on her face as she hurriedly adjusted her underwear and yanked her dress down, turning to look at him.

_Don’t look at me like that._

Because too suddenly the Granger woman looked hurt. Not that she let it show on her face, but Scabior could read those eyes. Could see them watering and feel the hurt burning brightly out of them. Merlin…

“Fuck.” Scabior muttered, stumbling back a little, before letting out another expletive, louder this time. “Fuck!”  
  
Because the Granger woman would have let him. Scabior knew that and she knew that. But he couldn’t do it. Merlin help him, he couldn’t fucking do it. Couldn’t destroy something so perfect, so pure. Couldn’t taint it despite that frantic, urgent longing that thronged inside him.  
  
Didn’t want to be the one to ruin her.  
  
“Fuck!”  
  
The Snatcher cursed loudly again as Hermione stood before him, awash with shame. His eyes were wide, something feral screaming out of them. She held back another violent shiver as she stood in his gaze, watching as he swept a hand frantically through his dark and frizzy hair.

The Snatcher turned then, leaving Hermione to stare after him. Hurt, and so violently ashamed. She had been delirious with lust, with that need. Drugged by his scent and his touch and his taste. She had been prepared to give him something that she’d never given anyone before, just to end that yearning trance. A part of her that not even Ron had touched upon. In return he had pulled away from her. Was walking away from her.

Hermione watched, her lips parted as the Snatcher grabbed his coat, hurried out of the door and disappeared into the night.  
  
What had she done?

What had she been about to do?

And at the back of the burning shame and excessive horror at the realization of her actions, there came another cry. One that made Hermione hate herself more, if that was even possible. Because she had practically offered herself up for that man, and he’d had no idea what she was about to sacrifice… and he had waited, waited for her to come undone, waited until she had finally submitted… and then so mercilessly, he had walked away…

Merlin help her, Hermione still heard that resounding cry at the back of her head…  
  
Why didn’t he want her?

 

 

A/N: Thoughts?

 


	27. Lost and Found

[ ](https://imgur.com/8MZqbVp)

New A/N: Hi guys. I’m back from hospital but absolutely exhausted. All I can do is ask that you’re patient with me as I get back to editing and updating. Thank you soooo much for such wonderful messages wishing me the best while I was gone. I hope this update doesn’t disappoint. x

My Tumblr- <https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gryffindorgirl7777>  
My email- Gryffindorgirl2010@hotmail.co.uk

  
A/N: hey all! Sorry for a late update as always, only I’m awaiting more surgery. Something went wrong and they need to fix it asap, so in a lot of pain as you can imagine. Please don’t be too disappointed with this update. I hope you like what I have managed to sit and write so far as it is very painful and uncomfortable for me to do so atm.

CURRENTLY NOT BETA-READ

  
**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

  
** Lost and Found. **

 

When the Snatcher didn’t return- that night, or the next- Hermione began to fear that he had abandoned her completely. That he’d fully deserted her there, locked inside that cabin with hardly any food and a dwindling pile of firewood. She wondered if she had somehow crossed a line and had grievously caused him some kind of offense in some way. But no matter how much she racked her brain over it- and she had plenty of time to do so- she couldn’t figure it out. She couldn’t figure out what she had done that was so wrong… and yet…

Of course, it had been wrong. It was _all_ wrong. So very, _very_ wrong. Nothing had been right since the night Hermione had first laid eyes on that Snatcher, since his eyes seemed to have pierced and slowly corrupted her very soul. No. All of it had been wrong, for such a very long time, worsened by Ron’s abandonment of her. He had not wanted her… and now the same was happening again.

Try as she might, Hermione couldn’t ignore that haunting wail calling out from the centre of her chest, most painfully. The wail that screamed of rejection and shame. She shed tears over it. Crying loudly into the silence of the cabin. The silence she now wished that she had never interrupted.

Hermione sobbed, her chest heaving with them as she lay curled up in a ball on the sofa, wrapped in the blanket she had taken comfort from previously. Maybe if she curled up tight enough, covered by that blanket, maybe she could disappear? She tried it, not surprised in the slightest when it didn’t work, but the darkness changed nothing about the howling from her soul.

The loneliness ate away at her.

When the Snatcher had first captured her, she had wanted nothing more than to runaway from him. Now she found herself too often sat atop that kitchen countertop that he had forced her down upon, looking out of the window, waiting for him to return. She understood the psychology of it. She’d read about Stockholm syndrome, but had never expected to suffer from it herself.   
  
Why did she miss him?

It was a question that whirled inside Hermione’s head, along with the plethora of others, repeating themselves loudly. What was it that she missed about that Snatcher? She couldn’t really put her finger on what made her want to be in his presence anymore, just knew that she should be. His scent lingered on everything all around her, infecting her with more of him than she’d already contaminated with.

Everything about the Snatcher grated on her. The sound of his voice, his scent, his touch… but Hermione could no longer deny the attraction. Merlin help her, when he had kissed her, she had breathed him in, and now he was there, deep in her very bones.   
  
It wasn’t until the third night that something stirred Hermione from her sleep. She had curled up on the sofa in front of the fire, beneath the blanket from the bed. Her eyes were stinging slightly and puffy from the tears she had shed before sleep had finally descended upon her. When she opened her bleary eyes, squinting at the light that shone in her face, it took her moments longer than it should have done to work out who it was. The dark silhouette of the Snatcher moved from her, letting the room fall into darkness once again and before she could call for him, she heard the door shut fast before locking itself behind him.

Scabior, the Snatcher. _Her_ Snatcher. And how had it come to that? How was it that Hermione could think of him with anything but disgust and hatred? Why did that sensation swell up inside of her once again? That feeling of that left her bereft of anything other than disappointment.

Hermione was disappointed. In the Snatcher and in herself. She had never felt so bare, so shamefully raw and exposed as when she was cast under his gaze and he had torn her from herself, without so much of a word. He had torn her from her morals, her ideologies and then, he had walked away.

Trying not to cry, Hermione pulled her knees up before her, able to see now from the light of the newly revived fire. She realised then that he had left another pile of wood for her to burn. It could all burn, all of it as far as she was concerned, along with the remnants of herself that remained.

Hermione had never felt so helpless. Had never felt so lost. She was curled up in the dark, feeling desperately empty, so naked and impure in that ice-cold world around her. No heat from the fire or the cold seeped in through her skin. She was closed off to it now, cold and made of iron… or at least trying to be.

But as Hermione sat and watched the dancing flames and burning embers, tears began to roll down her face, unbidden and unwanted. Her eyes burned from the heat of the fire and the saltiness of her tears. Godric help, her she couldn’t stop the feeling of disappointment. In herself for giving in, and the Snatcher for leaving.

How had she fallen this far?

To have fallen so deep in that dark pit, that Hermione had all but offered herself to him, her abductor. The man that had stolen so much from her already. But she would have, she would have let him have her, would have let herself cave under the tempting cravings that had been burning beneath her skin. Was she really that depraved now? Such a masochist that she would put herself in that position, knowing now that either way it would have ended in tears. Tears. Like the ones falling now. Desperately lost and searching as she sobbed loudly into the silence of the winter night. Everything was lost.  
  
Harry.

Ron.

The world…

And herself in it.

  
Days passed, too similar to the ones before, ones filled with solitude and nothing but Hermione’s own conscience to berate her- and oh how it did. How it made its loud, inner voice known to her. At one point she even considered that she was going quite mad. That was when she began to run through the lists of potions that she knew through her head. Then the list of past Headmasters of Hogwarts. A list of herbs and their uses… and on it went, keeping the madness away, in that place that screamed insanity.

For the next week Hermione waited. Learnt soon enough that the Snatcher would only return once night had fallen and he could be sure that she was sleeping. By then, all in all, she was okay with that development… because she had nothing left to say to him anymore anyway. The sooner he could find a buyer for her, the sooner she could be away from him and the sooner she had a chance of escape.

Because it both startled and concerned Hermione that she missed that man’s company. Stung her with a pain in her chest so damn hard when she could feel his presence. Yes. That’s how bad it had gotten. She could even feel his presence lingering, circling just beyond the wards of the hut.

Once, maybe even twice Hermione had waited at the door, hand pressed against it, feeling the Snatcher’s presence just behind it.

  
Scabior stood, breathing heavy in the cold and falling snow. He had his back pressed to the door and was looking skyward, trying to dissipate that heavy, heady need that grasped him all too often now-a-days. It had gotten so bad, so much worse, that he had taken to sleeping at his apartment. In the cold. Too far away from her. The distance felt like it was stretching tightly between them as he lay there, recalling that thudding pounding the Granger woman had made in the bathroom so long ago. Back when he had tied her up and not to taint her, to taste her but just to hold her in place whilst he slept.

If Scabior laid there and closed his eyes, he could pretend that the Granger woman was in there… but the little chit wouldn’t even let him do that. It was her presence that he lacked, the heat and tension that always arose between them. He couldn’t imagine that, couldn’t pretend that she was there and even believed it impossible for anyone to do. Because what happened between them was so strong and tight and never endingly painful that it couldn’t be invented.  
  
So Scabior lay alone, in the silence, a mere whisper of the man he used to be. He had always been a monster. Knew he still was. But something was different now. Something about him was fundamentally broken.

Every day Scabior went out to work, threw himself into it because he had nothing else to take away the taste of her, the longing. And he realised what was lacking as he went about his work, or more, found what he had gained…

Empathy.

Mercy.

His torn apart, broken soul was leaking with it.

That shell that was Scabior’s body played its part well. He heard the torments from his own mouth, but only after they had seeped from his well-trained silver tongue. His eyes were on the bodies that were pummelled, a sneer held in place on his lips…

But then Scabior would return, stopping several times on the way, just to circle the cabin, beyond the wards. Some days he couldn’t trust himself to go beyond them… because that young woman, that Hermione Granger, lay just inside them.

What was it he was seeking when he went there? Forgiveness? Redemption? Because Scabior felt worse now than ever. Like he’d had a taste of what heaven had to offer and now that he was being denied it, he felt ever more like he was in hell. More so than before, because she was too much of a stark contrast between the two.

Scabior was not a fool. He had fallen far too long ago to ever hope of clawing his way back up. He wasn’t mad enough to think that was all that it would take, but he returned to the cabin all the same. Thinking, asking quietly for some answers that would never come, because what could he do now? The damage had been done. He was not the man that young woman deserved, not by a long shot. He wasn’t even close to that heavenly innocence that she pertained, and he knew he never would be.

Then what was it beside the need that made him return, almost nightly? For Salazar’s sake, Scabior did not know. Had no answers and no prayers to offer out to anyone that might hear him. He’d lost himself. Lost his way, and Merlin, that woman would be his undoing. That sweet and innocent woman didn’t know it, but she was slowly killing him. Inside out, all with that purity-laced poison.

Another week passed and despite the deafening silence Hermione began to fall used to it. She busied herself with silly tasks, like cleaning and cooking. Noticed that the shelves were re-stocked with scraps of food every now and then, always whilst she had been sleeping. One morning she saw that another book had been left for her upon the kitchen unit, a bestiary guide of some sort. Something to keep her occupied she guessed. Something to prevent her causing trouble with brash attempts of escape she supposed. She didn't know the reason, couldn't fathom it and didn't care, because there was no way it had been left through kindness.

And so, the quiet confines of the empty cabin became Hermione’s normality. The solitude, the silence… no words but those printed on the page of her book. She had become so used to feeling the Snatcher’s presence beyond the wards, so used to fervently ignoring it, that one day she failed to notice… She was so emerged in the world the book provided for her that she didn’t pick up on it until it was all too late.

Hermione leapt to her feet the exact same time that the door opened, her eyes widening in realisation that someone was actually there, that she wasn’t dreaming or imagining things as the madness took a final, jarring hold.

No, he was definitely there…

Fenrir Greyback was standing just inside the door. 

 

 

 

A/N: I know that this is a very short chapter, especially compared to the previous one but it made no sense from a narrative point of view to make it longer as all I’d be doing is adding more about Hermione’s inner turmoil. I figured that you guys got the gist 😊 I hope you’re still enjoying it and that you’re not too mad that I left it on a cliffie.

 

 

 


	28. The Unexpected Guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains graphic violence and attempted rape. Please do NOT read this chapter if these things could be a trigger for you. You should be able to catch up with the next chapter easily enough.

[ ](https://imgur.com/NkqoylT)

A/N: Hey all. I’m working hard on my recovery at home and have to confess that I’m finding it a little hard to get back into the writing zone with all the things I now have to do rehabilitation wise. Please bear with me if the updates are a little slower than usual. I’m trying very hard to write chapter thirty-something to my usual standard, but I have to admit that it feels a little off and not up to scratch. For now, I’ve done some editing of this chapter and wanted to get another update out to you lovely people. I will warn you that this chapter is quite dark and has reference to attempted rape. I do NOT want anyone to get triggered by this, so if you feel that is a risk, please don’t read this chapter. I struggle with PTSD and the last thing I want to do is trigger anything for anyone or cause them distress. You’ve all been so wonderful, and I want to ensure that I, as the author, return the favour.

 

My Tumblr- <https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gryffindorgirl7777>  
My email- Gryffindorgirl2010@hotmail.co.uk

 

**WARNING: This chapter contains graphic violence and attempted rape. Please do NOT read this chapter if these things could be a trigger for you. You should be able to catch up with the next chapter easily enough.**

 

**Chapter Twenty-eight**

** The Unexpected Guest **

 

 

Hermione’s heart stilled. Her stomach plummeted to her feet and the cold tingle of paralyzing fear swept over her like icy water.

             

This wasn’t the hunter that Hermione had become so used to seeing. This wasn’t the earthy scent that belonged only to him and those weren’t the piercing icy eyes of a blue-grey winter sky. Those eyes were yellowed, like his teeth. The scent was putrid and this hunter… this hunter didn’t care if she lived or died.

 

Hermione’s book seemed to take forever to hit the floor, as though in slow motion she was aware of it falling, gravity’s pull on it as she battled it’s pull on her, her knees threatening to give way at a moment’s notice if she did not fight against that force. All she could do was stare, immobilised completely; wordless, thoughtless, mouth open in surprise and shock and fear and terror.

 

How had it come to this?

 

How had it come to be that Fenrir Greyback was standing just inside the door, that grimacing sneer showing yellowed teeth as his eyes bore leeringly into hers.

 

Like a piece of string that had been stretched too far and had suddenly snapped, the spell was broken as the book hit the floor. The noise too loud and Hermione’s heart too huge.

 

Hermione bolted. Her feet awoke from the seemingly endless spell that she knew somewhere, logically had never existed in the first place. But the spell had broken for Greyback too and the mountain of the man mirrored her movement, causing her to turn, moving to the right this time. With reflexes of a wolf, he mirrored her again causing her to stop, her heart pounding, her head screaming and the whole time the room was all too loud with silence.

 

Greyback’s laughter broke the silence- a growling, husky chuckle, too wet and dripping with humour and malice.

 

“Well look what we ‘ave ‘ere.” Greyback’s voice was gravelly, wet and raspy.  “Ol’ Scabior’s been hidin’ you for quite a while I’d say. Rather greedy of ‘im if you ask me…” His leering eyes and sneering grin were plastered to her face. “Seems only fair to share.”

 

Hermione took a sudden step back, but Greyback was still blocking the front of the door, the door that remained open and her only means of escape.

 

“Ah now pet…” Greyback’s words seemed too wet; too much saliva building with every moment spent staring at her. He licked his lips before continuing, making Hermione shudder with cold fear. “We won’t ‘ave any of tha’. It only builds up ma thirst ya see… and I wanna enjoy you… slow and appreciative-like.”

 

Hermione’s heart thudded so hard as she took another instinctive step back, knowing that she was moving further from the exit, but also further away from him. She needed that distance, needed it to remain there or grow between the two of them. She had to get away from him.

 

Hermione cursed silently at what she was wearing. A woollen dress that reached her knees and a pair of tights, left for her by her snatcher. She had noted when she picked them up, that he had picked up on the need for practicality rather than show. He knew he could find no buyer for her whilst so many were hunting for her, so he had turned to bringing her warmer clothes, meaning he had longer between visits to replenish the logs by the fire.

 

But when was the last time that the Snatcher had been there? Hermione couldn’t remember how many days it had been and couldn’t rely on his sudden return for a rescue. Couldn’t rely on a rescue from him at any cost, not whilst his colleague was present. 

 

The werewolve’s eyes travelled down Hermione’s body again, as he moved fluidly into the kitchen area, his mountain of a body still impeding her one route out.

 

“Wh-what do you want?” An echo of a memory somewhere at the back of Hermione’s head as she stumbled on the question, already knowing the answer.

 

Greyback chuckled again.  
  
“As I said. I wanna _enjoy_ you.” The beast’s leering, lop-sided grin made the hair on Hermione’s arms stand on end.

 

“They’ve bin makin’ quite the fuss over you… Wanna know what all that fuss is about.” Greyback spat as he spoke, saliva building in his mouth like it would in a dog’s whilst it was looking at a steak “So ‘ow long you bin hidin’ out here then?”

 

Hermione stepped back again as the werewolf moved further inside, the size of him only becoming more apparent as he seemed to fill the room. She kept stepping backwards, her eyes horrifyingly glued to him, wanting to tear them from him if only to dissipate some of the fear, but her eyes wouldn’t move, not even to land on the door beyond him.

 

Hermione stammered, almost tripping on something on the floor, a piece of clothing or a blanket.

 

“A few days… it was abandoned so we came to stay here.”

 

_That’s it Hermione. Lie. Pretend there’s more of you hiding here. That they’ll be back at any moment._

 

“We?” Greyback’s wet voice rasped as Hermione swallowed down the sickness the putrid scent of him rose within her. “Funneh that… as I can only smell you… and ‘im.”

 

So Greyback could smell him too.

 

And why that thought would register, even for a second, was completely beyond her.

 

_Shit. Shit Hermione! Think!_

 

“Smell who?” Hermione asked, knowing who, picturing the Snatcher in her head and cursing him all over again. For leaving her there, for taking her in the first place and for removing everything and anything she could have used as a weapon to protect herself. Her body buzzed with the adrenaline fuelled urge to either fight or flee.

 

Greyback’s grin widened, Hermione’s dread building.

 

“I can smell ya both. It’s all over the place… your scent.” Greyback licked his lips again and Hermione knew that he was talking about more than body odour.  She swallowed, her chin up, head straight as she tried to feign ignorance… but she had never been much good at that.

 

“Who’d have thought he’d touch a Mudblood. You must be good… you must _taste_ good.”

 

Oh Merlin, just Greyback’s words were filling Hermione with an immobilizing terror. How could it be? How could she have escaped his clutches so many times before only to be trapped in them now?

 

The only answer was him. Scabior. He hadn’t turned her in. Then he had rescued her from the demise Greyback and Lestrange had planned for her. But it had all finally caught up with her- her apparent cursed fate. Greyback was before her once more and the only element in the equation that had saved her before was missing. Scabior. 

 

“Stay still little one…” The werewolf was moving closer, seemed taller than ever- a wall of muscle, emitting the stench of wet dog and rotting meat. “Let me ‘ave a _taste_.”

 

The wet word was enough to startle Hermione’s feet from the floor again. This time she turned, grabbed a chair from beneath the table behind her and swung it, hard and heavy at the moving force that was the werewolf seizing upon her.

 

A heavy thud, a rasping growl but Hermione knew that although her hit had connected with the brute, it hadn’t done much damage. She didn’t stop to look, couldn’t spare a second. She hurtled past him, round the temporarily motionless body, racing round the sofa towards the door.

 

Hermione barely registered that something had grabbed her ankle before she slammed into the wooden floor beneath her. She cried out, her body aching at the impact. She was reaching, stretching her hands out for anything she could find. But claw-like hands clutched at her arms, lifting her to her feet like she weighed nothing, only to hit her hard again, her body flying sideways and smashing back into the floor.

 

Lifting her head, Hermione scrambled, ignored the pounding pain of her body, her hair in her face as she saw the angry, snarling face of the werewolf, glued to her once more.

 

Greyback swiped out his arm, lifting and throwing the sofa aside with horrifying ease. With the fire behind her, Hermione could no longer scramble backwards, could only watch with wide-eyed panic as he moved, taking determined steps towards her. The distance closed too quickly, and she had no time to think. Her hand rested on a wooden log in the fire behind her and she swung it out, the other end of it on fire, causing him to roar out and rear back in alarm.

 

Finding even a moment to her advantage, Hermione was on her feet once more, hurrying to the door, turning to swipe at the monster once more. She screamed again when Greyback’s body flew into hers, knocking her fully to the side. Her head impacted with the bathroom door as his clawed fingers snatched the fiery weapon from her grasp.

 

Hermione’s eyes followed the flaming log in horror as it fell. Greyback’s foot crushed down on it, so big that it splintered the wood and extinguished the flames instantly. Before she could look up, talons swiped at her face, cutting her cheek just beneath her left eye. She heard ripping as her body turned in momentum from the hit, his other hand grasping the woollen dress and tearing it with his claws as she struggled.

 

“Stay still!”

 

A growl, the roll of Hermione’s stomach as the putrid smell of Greyback’s breath hit her nose. But she couldn’t help the struggling, couldn’t help the overwhelming need for self-preservation. Her arms reached out, pushing at his face as he loomed in, too close to her neck.

 

“Stop it! Let me go!” Hermione’s scream was silenced with another hit, this time a pummelling punch to her ribs that took the air from her lungs. She clasped at her side, limp before Greyback let her fall to her knees, her other hand on the floor to hold her up. On all fours, she could do nothing as his large, booted foot came up again, colliding with her stomach.

 

Hermione panted; her body agony personified. She tried to crawl away, but Greyback grabbed her again, her body slamming forward as he picked her up this time, forcing her down against the table. Her hands pressed into the wood, her bleeding cheek smudging blood against the surface of it as she swallowed. Hermione kept her eyes clenched tightly together, wishing so loudly in her head for this to be a nightmare that she knew there was no way it could possibly ever be. Her silent screams were too loud, would have woken her from any turbulent slumber.

 

“I said…”

 

Greyback’s voice was a growl against Hermione’s ear, his stench, his body, all too close all too present and all too real. A nightmare come to life. Her nightmare. The one she had been threatened with and ultimately chosen. How stupid she had been? What a fool to think that this fate would be better than the one Scabior had threatened. Up close and real this was more than a nightmare. This was the impending moment of a painful death. She could feel it threatening her, rolling off his tongue and onto her skin with his words alone.

 

“…stay still.”

 

There was a finalizing presence to those words. Something that screamed to Hermione that her time was up. That she had been lucky one too many times before, and that she had been wrong in thinking she had suffered… what was about to happen would be so, so much worse.

 

“Tell me Mudblood… where are those little friends of yours?”

 

The ones that Hermione had lied about. The ones she had lied for, was about to die for.

 

“Where’s Potter hiding?!”

 

But Hermione stayed silent, trembling, pressed full-bodily against the table. She closed her eyes, held them tightly shut again. Shut out the fear and shut out the pain.

 

“Dunt really need ya to answer pet… I’m happy just to hear you scream.”

 

Hermione’s scream pierced out before she could prevent it. Long claws scratching deeply down her back, tearing skin and material together in one sweep from his sharp nails.

 

“Where is he?” Greyback growled again as tears began to leak from Hermione’s eyes against her will. Her torn skin stretched as she shifted, trying to raise herself from the table only to have her head forced back down against it.

 

Hermione’s cheek felt cold and wet from the blood on the wooden surface, she wanted to close her eyes to the monster before her as he licked his lips again, leaning around to leer into her face once more.

 

“’Could do with them Galleons… now this will be painful either way… but I can make it over so much quicker if you jus’ tell me.”

 

Hermione knew that the beast above her was lying. Knew the evident interest in her from what was currently pressed against her lower back. She took a deep, shuddering breath, sure that at least two of her ribs were broken.

 

The deep breath of knowing, knowing that it didn’t matter what she did. The deep breath to steady herself before Hermione found her voice.

 

“Go fuck yourself.”

 

It didn’t sound like her. Held none of her mannerisms. But at that moment it didn’t matter and Hermione knew that pain would follow, predicted the scream that tore from her lips.

 

Hermione was hit again, his fists slamming into her body with the force of a sledgehammer. He tore at her again, her skin ripping as bloody claws carved deep rivulets in her skin. She heard Greyback’s panting, heard it quicken as his hands began to roam her body, as he got distracted from the questions, her screams only seeming to add to his growing frustration. Only working him up more.

 

But Hermione wouldn’t give in without a fight. Hit out, kicked out, screamed out in defiance. She shrieked as sharp talons ripped at her inner thighs, her tights ripping like wet tissue paper, ripping hope from her as she sobbed heavily against the table.

 

“Stop!”

 

But Hermione’s cries couldn’t help her. She couldn’t talk her way out of this one, and there were too many echoes in her memory. Too much familiar with being pushed down against the table, with feeling vulnerable. But this time there was no tingle of anticipation, only terror, only fear at knowing what happened now that she was in that situation. Yet this time, this time there was no humanity, not an inkling of it to prevent the unthinkable from happening.

 

“Bet Scabior had ‘is fun with you… bet you’re tight…” Greyback was mumbling frantically to himself, a hand around Hermione’s waist as his body pressed against hers, forcing her to remain pressed against the table.

 

_Merlin, help me._

 

The tears rolled down Hermione’s bruised and battered face as she closed her eyes. Tried to remember anything, any reason to want to live through what was about to happen… if she even got that chance.

 

Her boys…

 

Ron…

 

Harry…

 

How useless Hermione had been to them in the end. What a burden. Was it really all about to end there? With that huge dog-like creature pressed against her, tearing open the back of her dress and licking up the blood that he had drawn there.

 

Was it really going to end there? In that Snatcher’s room? Against his table? The one that Hermione had so ashamedly offered herself up to him?

 

Hermione swallowed, her throat thick, a lump in her throat. She struggled, because she would never just admit defeat, never submit and admit to losing… but she knew she had.  She knew it was pointless, that she was overpowered and that nothing she did would make any difference.

 

A shriek slipped from between Hermione’s bleeding lips again as a clawed hand pressed against her head. Sharp knife-like nails split the skin on her scalp, digging into her flesh. Greyback lifted her head enough that her chin lifted, her neck craning with the movement before he forcibly smashed her head back down against the table.

 

Blindness. Blinding and skull-splitting pain, before Hermione could regain any of her other senses. The rushing sound of blood in her head, the sound of her murmured moan as she tried to turn her head, her cheek pressed against the table once more. Then the sound of metal. The clinking buckle of a belt… and she knew this was it, before she felt the last of the material torn from between her legs.

 

Hermione couldn’t help it. She let out an ear-piercing scream. Let it out, let it tear her throat as she screamed for the injustice of it all, for the hatred she felt inside her, for the knowledge that she had ruined herself the moment she had submitted to that man, the one that had been pressing against her just days ago. Her Snatcher. Screaming for Harry, for Ron, for everyone she had loved and failed, and lastly, screaming for it to be over. 

 

That one last scream, one last act of defiance before she truly died inside.

 

“If you’re good enough…” Spit fell from the jaws of the monster above her and fell against her face. “I may even let ya live… after a bite or two of course.”

 

Hermione knew what was coming next. Closed her eyes and held her breath.

 

 

 

 

 

“Crucio!”

 

 

 

 

 

Not what Hermione had expected.

 

By the time she had opened her eyes, Hermione was also confused by the lack of pain. Why wasn’t she screaming? Why wasn’t her body wracked by the agony of the curse that someone above her had bellowed?

 

It was only when Hermione’s blurry eyes fell on him, out of focus and seeing double that she began to understand. Let her eyes fall closed in blessed relief. And who’d have thought she’d ever felt relief to see that man? Her snatcher, standing with his wand raised towards the creature above her.

 

The wailing roar of the creature above her was deafening but didn’t last as long as Hermione wished it to. The moment Greyback had moved from above her she struggled, attempting to lift her head, feeling a wet trail dripping from her forehead before she watched the drop of blood splash against the table. Out of focus, her brain addled and confused as the drips of blood merged from one splash into two, three and then back again. She closed her eyes, things too loud. Things around her crashing and smashing as she turned her head and tried to focus on the blurring images that were colliding against each other.

 

Hermione tried to push herself up, felt the searing pain of her torn skin, stretching on her back and her chest complain as she reached out to hold the place her ribs had undoubtedly broken. He was there. Her Snatcher. Thank Merlin, he was there, and although she knew from the noise and the unfocused fight before her, that she wasn’t out of the woods yet, she had never been so grateful to see anyone in her life.

 

 

 

Scabior had been trudging through the undergrowth of a field with a group of Snatchers alongside him. All were rowdy, bloodthirsty- thirsty for something else, but his head hadn’t been in the game. His thoughts were always occupied, always annoyingly elsewhere.

 

Always endlessly with thoughts of _her._

 

Scabior no longer felt the thrill of the hunt. He no longer felt the excitement of the chase or the delight in the catch. He felt hollow and incomplete. Decidedly lacking in whatever it was that the Granger woman’s capture had seized from him.

 

His heart just wasn’t in it anymore.

 

Scabior had been forced to visit Malfoy manor that morning and been berated alongside the other Snatchers for their failures once more. All because the Malfoys had once had Potter in their grasp and had let him get away. Frankly, Scabior couldn’t give a sod about the welp. Let him rot for all he cared. But now the heat was back on, now that they were trying to discover who may have helped them in their escape, their punishment was unyielding.

 

All Scabior could do was swallow his anger, his hatred and disgust for the family that had everything. The family that could pass judgment on everyone other than themselves. For Salazar’s sake, he hated them. Felt the hatred thrumming through his blood even once he’d left the manor.

 

Scabior was marching beside a hedgerow, his thoughts bitter and resentful, part of a conversation behind him hit his ears despite the wind. He could only catch snippets, but that was enough, enough to know that Greyback had changed the location of his search and heaven help him, it was exactly the place that he had left her.

 

Dread filled Scabior’s blood instantly, replacing the hate. Calorific fear gripped him, stopping him in his tracks.

 

Merlin, help them.

 

Scabior apparated without a word, without an explanation. He had no time for lies, whether convincing or not. How long had Greyback been searching there? How long had Scabior left the Granger woman to fend for herself, at the mercy of that monster?

 

When Scabior reappeared in the forest clearing his blood stilled at the sound of an ear-piercing, soul shattering scream. One that pierced the air and split his very being.

 

Without thought or any real realization, Scabior stunned another Snatcher, one that looked apprehensive at entering the hut the chilling sound was emanating from. He heard the dull thud as the other Snatcher’s body crumpled to the floor but he was moving too fast, didn’t care to watch.

 

The crunch of snow beneath Scabior’s boots reached his ears as the screaming stopped, heard his footsteps quicken even more as he ran, seeming to take forever to reach the open door of his hut. What he saw before him made his blood freeze, made his heart large in the cavern of his throat and still instantaneously.

 

That was when Scabior’s voice reached his ears, before he even realised what he was doing.

 

“Crucio!”

 

Scabior heard the roar of the creature above her and it snapped him out of whatever spell he had seemingly been under. The adrenaline that had built within him in the past few minutes sped him into life, pulsing in his veins. His eyes darted over at the young woman on the table, taking in her glazed eyes as she tried to focus in his direction, but was unable to hold his gaze. There was something akin to relief there, amid the pained confusion and fire.

 

Scabior tore his eyes from the woman he had abandoned there. Happy for the moment just to know that she remained alive. But Greyback had drawn his wand in the time it had taken to confirm her gripping to life, defiant as ever. Scabior leapt to the side just in time to avoid a blast of light as a curse hurtled from the werewolf’s wand and too suddenly, he was duelling for both _her_ life, and his own.

 

 

 

 

New A/N: I have a lot of anxiety over this chapter. I hope that it was okay. Please let me know what you think?

 

Original A/N: I hope this is not too short a chapter, but I wanted to get something posted asap. I want to thank everyone who has messaged me over the past year, about my fanfics, wishing me well through my surgeries and just generally enquiries as to whether I am still alive. It was a tough year but despite everything I’m surviving and I hope this update doesn’t disappoint as its been hard to sit back down and write an update knowing how many people I don’t want it to be a disappointment to.

 

I will reply to comments and questions and reviews etc, on my tumblr page. I hope getting back into the swing of things won’t be too hard. Again, massive and sincere thank yous to all of you x

 


	29. Scrambling

[ ](https://imgur.com/7q7j2yE)

New A/N: HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

I’m so sorry for the lack of updates. I had a load of commissions to finish in time for xmas and then had a lot on with friends and family over the holiday season. I hope you all had a very happy holiday, (that’s right. Not everyone celebrates it so happy holidays is just so much more respectful. PS. There is no war on xmas.) I’m working on the next update for my other fic on here as well so if you fancy giving it a read please do so. I hope you enjoy this guys and I shall endeavor to get back on track for you all.

 

Original A/N: So howdy guys. This is a short chapter but only because I liked having the break there, I felt it went well for the pacing of the story. I’ve already started the next chapter so although this is a short one, there’s more on the way ;)

Hope you’re not too upset.

As a side note, look on my profile if you want to contact me >_< I like nattering. X

Enjoy!

 

CURRENTLY NOT BETA-READ

 

 

**Chapter Twenty-nine**

 

** Scrambling  **

 

 

 

Hermione blinked. Tried to blink the haze and heaviness from her head. Her eyes remained unfocused, unable to direct their gaze on any one thing, partly because she was seeing double. But she was aware of the chaos ensuing all around her. Bright lights added to the aching of her head, reds and greens and smashing noises, the thuds of bodies and the growls and yells of pain.

 

It took so much just for Hermione to lift herself up from the table, her head spinning in disagreement to the movement, her cut legs failing her as she tried to put weight on them. She slipped from the tabletop, sprawling in a heap upon the floor, clinging to the table leg as though trying to stop the world from spinning. She had to have something to hold on to.

 

 

Scabior was dueling like a mad man. He held back nothing. Let the rage and hate take over as he damaged Greyback with both spells and fist. Nothing but animalistic, primitive rage emanated from the two of them. Greyback’s self-preservation and Scabior’s own hate and venom at finding the werewolf and the Granger woman as he had.

 

Scabior crouched behind the fallen sofa for a moment, only a moment to catch his breath, knowing his own reflexes were good but the werewolf’s primitively better. He glanced over at the young woman curled up, trying to shuffle under the table, clinging to the table leg for balance, or protection, he didn’t know which.

 

“Get down!” Scabior roared at the bruised and beaten woman as Greyback’s attention returned to her upon Scabior’s brief interlude behind the sofa. He fired another curse towards the mad creature that was heading right for the injured woman.

 

Salazar, she did look a state.

 

Scabior moved, firing again but his curse was deflected. He moved fast, his Snatcher reflexes on display for all to see, but this time he wasn’t snatching. He moved, crouched in front of the Granger woman, holding his arm out as an attempt to shield her from the monster in front of them.

 

Blue-grey, icy eyes met the yellowed ones of the werewolf; his hair on end like a dog’s shackles would rise under threat. Greyback wanted her… they both did… But who was the stronger monster?

 

“Move!” Scabior told the woman, pushing her to move behind him, feeling her blood on his hand. But Greyback was moving again and curses flew in all directions. Scabior glanced back at the barely conscious woman, the one that smelt like everything pure and good. The one that still tugged at his senses without even trying.

 

The table was hit with green light, the wood snapping and falling instantly. Scabior didn’t think, didn’t stop to consider his movements, his body moving instinctively. He leant over the bleeding young woman, protecting her already bleeding head from the falling planks of wood that had been his table.

 

That moment was all it took.

 

Skin ripped, claws dug into in his arms, ripping flesh, muscle and making Scabior roar out. He was moving, rolling backwards, with the dog-like monster above him. He heard a scream. Maybe it was hers, maybe it was him as claws dug into the skin on his chest.

 

And then it fell.

 

Scabior’s fingers felt the wooden weapon, his wand, slip and fall but he didn’t hear it hit the floor. He only felt the blood rushing in his head as both he and Greyback barreled into the wall, still scrambling, growling, fighting.

 

Scabior only had fists to defend himself with now, but fortunately Greyback appeared to prefer inflicting physical harm as opposed to the magical kind. A fist pummeled into Scabior’s face, blinding him for a moment as he tried to kick out at his assailant.

 

“Stop it!”

 

_Was that her voice?_

 

Another fist collided with Scabior’s face.

 

“Stop!”

 

_Was that her?_

 

Because voices and memories were echoing now, all blending together to join the pounding noise in Scabior’s head. The thumping sound of rushing blood, of his own heartbeat as it throbbed somewhere in his throat- noise that was deafening.

 

“You’re nothing but that woman’s whore!”

 

And that sound, that voice from a lifetime ago… it made sense to hear that and have the beatings. Merlin, Scabior hadn’t realized how ingrained those words had been, fixed into the back of his head. Into his very being.

 

“Please!”

 

A pleading voice… was it him? The sound of his voice from so long ago, a child crying out as he was beaten and cast aside? He couldn’t figure it out, not with the pounding, not with all the pain and all the noise.

 

Lights shone as Scabior opened his eyes again, big bursts of colour as he managed to get a hit in against his foe. He saw her; saw the Granger woman standing there, bleeding, ghostly and scared. His gaze moved slightly to the left… saw the open door behind her.

 

Was she screaming again? Because he could see her mouth moving, her feet moving towards him…

 

_No… not you…_

_He can’t have you._

 

“Go!” Scabior’s voice sounded too loud, echoing and reverberating around his head. Greyback’s hand reached the collar of his shirt, forced him up and slammed him back against the wall. The wind flew from his lungs for a second but the moment he took a gasp of air, filling his lungs once more, he yelled again.

 

“GO! Run!”

 

But Scabior couldn’t see her anymore. He saw claws, yellowed eyes, fists and snarling teeth. He was giving everything he had to keep the creature from sinking his fangs into his skin. As long as Greyback’s attention was on him, it was fine. As long as she got out… got away… ran away from him.

 

How fucking ironic… that his first threat to her had been Greyback, that he would lead the monster to her… and he had. How ironic… how painful.

 

Scabior had done this. He had taken her. He had kept her there… and then he had abandoned her.

 

Scabior roared out again as claws pierced his skin, stabbing his stomach, making him cry out in agony.

 

But it was fine… as long as Greyback didn’t get her.

 

Scabior tried to focus his gaze behind the monster… didn’t see the ghostly form of the Granger woman anymore. So, she was gone. He took a breath, waiting, and ready, prepared for the next destructive blow…

 

Even if it was the final one.

 

 

 

 

 

Hermione looked up, saw the two men go rolling back with the force of Greyback charging at the Snatcher. Her head pounded against her skull as she shrieked in fear, trying to reach out for the Snatcher but all too late. Her body wasn’t responding as it should. It was taking too long to obey her.

 

What should she do?!

 

Hermione heard Scabior cry out in pain and almost felt the force of a punch to his face. Her hands were over her mouth, horror rushing through her body alongside her blood. She scrambled around, tried to get to her feet. Then she saw it.

 

The door was open.

 

Hermione looked back at the two men, the two monsters as they fought one another.

 

 _Let them. Let them kill each other_.

 

The angry, berating voice at the back of Hermione’s head had returned.

 

_Let them tear each other limb from limb whilst you run… whilst you get away. Find the boys! Find a wand! Find a way out of this nightmare!_

 

Heart pounding hard against her chest, hurting her to breathe, Hermione looked back again… saw the blood, the carnage and heard the cries of the Snatcher.

 

“Stop it!”

 

Was that her voice? Was that her screaming?

 

“Stop!”

 

Why was she on her feet? Why were they moving in the wrong direction?

 

_Turn around. Walk away._

That voice of self-preservation, the sound of sanity rang clear inside Hermione’s head, but she wavered.

“Go!”

 

That was his voice. That was the Snatcher yelling at her, telling her to listen to that voice inside her head.

“Stop it.”

 

This time it was her whisper… to herself. To that voice of reason in her head. To the Snatcher himself.

 

Too many tears, Hermione’s voice was torn, a lump in her throat as she realized that Greyback was going to win. Scabior was against the wall, his unfocused eyes on her, still piercing into her very soul.

 

“Go!” That was his voice, sounding urgent, scared.

 

Her Snatcher was losing… because he had tried to save her.

 

 _Because he took you in the first place!_  

 

But why was the Snatcher losing? He was talented with a wand… where was his wand? Because Hermione suddenly realised with a thunderous jolt that it wasn’t in his hand.

 

Hermione’s eyes flew to the floor, searching amongst the debris as she fell to her knees, her legs giving up the fight again. Her hands were covered in blood… there were splashes of it on the floor. Was it all hers?

 

_Just find that wand. Find that wand and run!_

Hermione was shaking, scrambling, her hands rummaging for the Snatcher’s fallen wand, that one weapon that wizards all revered. What she wouldn’t give to have a wand in her hand again. But her skin split on broken glass, was pierced with wooden splinters as she moved, panicking as she hurried to find it. And why wasn’t Scabior shouting anymore? Why wasn’t he calling out? Her heart was racing as she searched, knowing that silence meant Greyback was almost finished… and that she was next.

 

Hermione’s heart stopped.

 

There it was. A thin but sturdy piece of wood, sticking out from under the broken table- Unmistakable. Hermione’s hand fell upon it, desperately as she scrambled up, trying to balance herself on her unsteady feet.

 

_Now run._

Hermione turned. Merlin only knew why, but she turned from that open door and looked back.

 

Resigned. The Snatcher looked resigned to his fate, and all too ready for what was about to come.

 

_Run!_

 

Hermione’s voice rang out. Something incomprehensible. Red light shone, blinding her as it rushed from the wand in her hand.

 

Silence. A sudden silence that cut through the room like a knife.

 

They fell- almost all too slowly. Two bodies slumped onto the floor, one of them sliding down the wall, leaving smears of blood as a mark to show he’d been there.

 

An unfathomable noise fell from Hermione’s mouth… and then she ran. She scrambled, stumbled and fell more than actual running, but she moved all the same, as fast as her broken body would let her.

 


	30. Fleeing

[ ](https://imgur.com/7q7j2yE)

A/N: Hey all! I hope you’re still enjoying the fic. I _finally_ got back to writing, just in time to have the flu, so I’m sorry for the delay. Because of my medical conditions common afflictions take a lot longer for me to recover from. Nonetheless, I’m feeling a little better now and back to editing and writing. I’ve just updated my other fic. It’s a Dramione if any of you might be interested in reading it.

 

I want to say a very special thank you to one reader who took the time to email regarding this fic. They were extremely flattering and even more encouraging. It really gave me a kick up my butt to get this update out to you. I hope that it doesn’t disappoint.

 

As always, I try to post on my tumblr when I’ve updated so if anyone wants to follow me they are welcome to.

 

Tumblr- <https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gryffindorgirl7777>

Email- gryffindorgirl2010@hotmail.co.uk

****

** Hunted **

Chapter Thirty

Fleeing

 

 

Hermione was running.

 

The crunch of snow beneath Hermione’s feet was reverberating around her, the wind stinging her torn and bruised skin as she ran. Her panting breath rose before her, a white mist dissipating into the frigid winter air. Her legs were shaking, muscles quaking, adrenaline pulsing through her veins as she fled. Fled that cabin, fled the forest and fled those brain-shattering feelings that had been elicited within. Fled _him_.

 

Hermione was running full pelt, away from everything that surrounded that place, surrounded that man… had surrounded her. Fled the desire, fled the fear, the pain and the corruption. She was running from everything. Everything that was so wrong, so very, very wrong. Fleeing everything that was dark and twisted and overwhelmingly disturbing.

 

Hermione’s heart was pounding as she raced away from that darkness, now with the stark white light of the winter’s day upon her, eyes stinging, watering. She wanted to weep in relief because finally… finally she was free.

 

 

Only, this was only happening all inside her head.

 

 

And Hermione wasn't. Wasn't free at all. She was still undoubtedly a captive.

 

Because in reality Hermione was running- no, stumbling, falling, part _dragging_ herself- in the opposite direction. Moving away from the open door, the exit. The wrong way. _Wrong._ Her mind was too loud, screaming out at her in the silence, that terrifying silence of the cabin that had been so calamitously loud, so full of noise only seconds before. The sudden change shaking her to her core.

 

Of course, Hermione was already shaking, her body screaming at her as she practically crawled towards the devastation, the desolation before her, and she was sure that she mirrored it perfectly.

 

_What are you doing?_

 

That voice in Hermione’s head, still screaming at her, only now she could comprehend it.

 

_What the **hell** are you **doing**?_

 

The thought was frantic, desperate as Hermione’s bloodied hands reached out, fumbling on broken shards. Was that her sanity bellowing back at her inside her head? Or maybe her sanity was the sharp and jagged pieces that littered the floor?

 

_I don’t know._

Hermione’s frantic inner voice answered its own question as she reached her destination. Her breathing was still erratic, and her heart was banging painfully against the broken cage inside her chest. Aching, desperately as she scrambled.

_I don’t have any fucking clue what I’m doing!_

Not anymore.

 

Because so suddenly it was so important, so urgently _necessary_ to force herself those few inches closer. To reach the slumped and broken figure that Hermione still couldn’t make out clearly. The errant panic and urgency were painful. As painful as her battered body was but she was suddenly there, her hand on an arm, the other reaching out to a downturned head.

 

For a split-second Hermione noted a stab of something deep inside her chest, something she couldn’t fully comprehend. Just getting there, reaching… it stilled that terrified anguish within herself. But only for the slightest second.

 

_Why aren’t you running? Why aren’t you getting out? Just get out! Get out get out get out!_

Hermione couldn’t stop the screaming and she couldn’t answer either, so she tried to squeeze her eyes closed, tried to shut it out, blinking at the agonizing pounding within her bleeding head. Tried to focus on the man in front of her, slumped, broken, bleeding… so like her.

 

_Devastating._

 

The Snatcher was breathing.

 

Hermione noticed the relief wash over her- a rush of warm water, easing her aching soul- but all too briefly. Like she was outside herself, not clearly under her own control, just an automaton, she turned her head to the hulking figure of the monster on the floor beside them.

 

_Run!_

 

An icy, painful shudder of fear, of self-preservation, that jolted through her broken body. Hermione was sure that she felt her bones grinding against each other; sharp and serrated fragments colliding. It felt like every bone in her body had shattered, pieces of bone piercing through her flesh. That shred of rationality that lay entombed inside of her related that this couldn’t be the case, but she felt that way all the same.

 

The air hung heavy; stifling and suffocating her as Hermione struggled to breathe. Her eyes unmoving, glued to the animal, the beast of a man by her feet. The terror was rife, had been the whole time. Still hadn’t left her.

 

_Get out, get out get out get out..._

Insistent and constant.

The monstrous creature- the cause of Hermione’s trauma- was sprawled upon the wooden floor, a gently smoking wound on his back. The odor of wet dog and rotting meat too strong, too close to her, mixed with the slight smell of burning flesh. She felt sickness rise, burning her throat like acid and swallowed it down. Just stared at him, and she didn’t care to know- not in that moment- if he was still alive or dead. Just noted he was out. Stone-cold-out.

 

Hermione turned back to the Snatcher.

 

_Why… What…?_

 

But Hermione pushed back all the questions that she didn’t have answers to. Wasn’t _ready_ to answer to. Couldn’t even comprehend the questions.

 

Somewhere Hermione supposed that she was still inside herself because if she had stopped to think about it hard enough, she was being exactly Hermione Granger in that moment.

 

Stop. Think logically.

 

Is the danger still present? Well, yes. It was ever-present, especially inside that hut. But was Greyback out? Yes. The greater threat eliminated, temporarily. Now came the moment to satisfy that stupid Gryffindor bleeding heart of hers. The one that screamed out the need to help, to heal, to… something. But just make it right. Right this wrong. Focus on righting this wrong and then you can start working on the multitude of others. All the other corrupt and dark and desperate wrongs that you’ve committed.

 

Was she still Hermione?

 

Because she couldn’t be sure.

 

Considering the need to stop, to examine the implication that Hermione was no longer herself, to scrutinize her choices and actions, lasted less than half a second.

 

Hermione’s tumultuous, incessant, loud and earsplitting thoughts were suddenly silenced, so suddenly that it jarred her as the head framed by a shaggy red and brown mane lifted. Icy-blue eyes opened slowly, meeting hers. She was sure her eyes were wide and full of _everything_.

 

So. Much. _Everything._

 

Relief. Was it relief that had cascaded across her skin? Because there was still panic, still fear and still need. Need to heal, need to fix, need to something… and the blood. Hermione could feel the sticky slick of blood on her hands, coating her fingers and she couldn’t tell if it was hers or his.

 

She was so lost.

 

 _So_ lost inside her own pounding, splitting head. Splitting in two. Hermione couldn’t help the despairing whimper that escaped her at the intensity of it all. At the way she was drowning on it, on the air around them. Engulfed in the icy blue waters of the Snatcher’s eyes.

 

Confusion. The Snatcher’s eyes were awash with it. His stupid- want to scratch his eyes out- eyes. Hermione was bathed in it, probably reflected it right back, her eyes still wide, still unfocused, almost hurting for her to keep them open like that.

 

“Why?”

 

The Snatcher’s voice; rasping, pained and tearing deeply at Hermione’s chest for some unknown, God-forsaken reason. It might have threatened to end her, that sound that left a lump lodged in her throat. Except she was Hermione Granger. She was Hermione with an over-large, brave and bleeding heart. And she was so sure that it would be her ultimate downfall.

 

Maybe.

 

If she wasn’t already there.

 

Because look at her. Hermione was bleeding out, breathing hard, such pain screaming at her from every part of her body. Yet there she was, eyes staring back at the man that had taken her. The man had taken everything from her. Held her captive… in so many dangerous and disturbing ways. Her bleeding heart was there, screaming at her that she needed to… something. Heal him, fix him, _run_ from him… just something.

 

Somewhere Hermione was vaguely aware that the Snatcher had asked her a question, something she hadn’t yet answered because her head was so full of _her_ \- screaming. A voice from somewhere in the muddled depths within, wondered if maybe, maybe this was what insanity felt like.

 

_Or a blinding concussion._

 

That voice sounded so much more like her. A reassuring anchor. A rock in the crashing waves that Hermione had found herself drowning in. She refocused her attention on the question the Snatcher had asked.

 

_Why?_

 

Why was she there? Why wasn’t she dead? Why hadn’t she run? Why was she crying bitter, sad and salty tears as she stared at him?

 

Didn’t the Snatcher understand?

 

_I have no idea… Not a clue inside my stark-raving head!_

Hermione held no answers. Her head was shaking slighting as tears flowed down her cheeks, stinging the bleeding cuts that the motionless monster beside her had sliced into her flesh.

 

She was Know-it-all Hermione Granger of Gryffindor… and she had no fucking idea.

 

Deciding the small shake of her head was all she could manage, Hermione was aware that the Snatcher’s eyes seemed too far away, fuzzy. Like she was looking at them in a dream and she was unsure if it was the light in his eyes that was dimming or in hers.

 

So, Hermione settled on roaming her eyes across his body, on the ribbons of blood, on the injuries. She felt the wand in her hand as she gripped it tighter. Should feel better, shouldn’t feel so helpless. She’d been fighting for so long just to get a wand again. It shouldn’t have felt like a useless stick of wood that she was grasping onto like her life depended on it, but it did.

 

With fingers trembling, her blood coated fingers slipping on the buttons of the Snatcher’s shirt, Hermione tried to undo it. Needed to survey the damage. The fabric of the shirt was sodden, dyed crimson, hiding the destruction underneath. The whole time she knew, knew she was still bleeding, still broken to a point that she felt beyond repair. But it didn’t matter. This was more important… only she couldn’t work out why.

 

Bruises blistering beneath the Snatcher’s skin as Hermione peeled his shirt aside. So much bleeding before her eyes as she hurriedly revealed the carnage. Deep, gouging rivulets of red. Rivers of crimson overflowing from the gashes in his torso. The tanned skin of the Snatcher, still smelling of evergreens, was a massacre. Almost unrecognisable. Possibly irreparable.

 

 

Coloured light shone brightly, blinding Hermione for a moment. Golden white light glowed between the two of them and she realized that she was murmuring, barely breathing. The utterances of barely-there words filled the stifling silence, not making it any less unbearable. She squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to shut out the haze that was beginning to cloud her vision.

 

Hermione’s body was in agony and her mind was stubbornly refusing to admit it. It kept focusing on the numbness that lay beneath the torment, but the pain was stronger, and it was beginning to win out.

 

_Just get it done you idiot. Get it done, get it sorted and get the hell out!_

Get the hell away.

 

Because not once had Hermione forgotten the danger. It was always dangerous around that man.

 

“What...?”

 

Hermione’s heavy eyes glanced up to the Snatcher’s again as he breathed another question. Felt one of her eyes beginning to swell, felt the ache beneath the tightening skin. She looked down again, aware of how his chest was rising and falling, unevenly.

 

No answer. Nothing to say. Just-

 

_Get it done._

Hermione’s breathing was labored now, even with the shallow rise and fall of her chest. Her panting breaths were quieter now and her body slumped further causing a slow, unsteady hand to raise and reach her arm. Too gentle. Too excruciatingly gentle.

 

But Hermione had no words other than the ones she spoke in whispered Latin. Nothing other than those healing spells that were only now beginning to make a dent in clearing up the horrific bloodbath that was the Snatcher’s torso. No other words, just the sound of their ragged, uneven breathing, slight wheezing coming from her chest, aware that those ribs were definitely broken.

 

“Stop.”

 

A quiet voice that cracked in the air. Because maybe the Snatcher was aware, maybe he knew that it was taking everything Hermione had to fight the darkness from spreading across her hazy vision.

 

Or maybe something else…

 

“Stop.”

 

The Snatcher’s voice sounded firmer this time and when their eyes met Hermione’s brow furrowed slightly. Confusion. But also anger, because didn’t he understand that she needed to do this? That is was so essentially _necessary_ \- urgently so. Couldn’t he hear the screaming from inside her head that was telling her so? She was sure it must be loud enough. Besides, he _needed_ it- her logical, matter of fact- self telling them so.

 

_Just let me do this- you idiot- you jerk- you…_

_…Everything._

 

But even the arguing voices weren’t making sense anymore. Hermione was so briefly aware of it. So aware that it was a struggle just to breathe. It was suffocating; the pain, the darkness… the blood. It was all so _consuming._

 

Too much.

 

All too much.

 

_Just a little longer._

 

Hermione repeated the words; a breathy mantra in her head as she forced what she had left into healing the Snatcher’s wounds, ignoring his pleas.

 

_Just a little longer…_

 

Hermione’s chest felt like it was enclosed within a vice. Tight, hurting, not enough room for her lungs to inflate. Not enough air to breathe in. Her trembling, injured body was crumpling as she fought to keep the darkness at bay.

 

_Just a little longer…_

 

As the tip of that wooden wand traced what was left of the Snatcher’s wounds, doing what it could to stem the bleeding, the light faded.

 

And so did she.

 

Faded completely in and upon herself and into whatever silent darkness would take her.

 

 

 

 

 

A/N: Toss a coin to your fanfic writer! Please let me know what you think x


	31. Bleeding

[ ](https://imgur.com/7q7j2yE)

New A/N: Hey guys. So, a brief update to let you know that I’ve been struggling with a few health problems so my updates on my fics are taking much longer than before. I’m also planning my wedding so have lots of projects to work on. So, I go to London on Weds to see one of my specialists and should find out if I’m getting the surgery I need or not. Quite nervous and if it’s bad news I might be depressed for a bit, so just a heads up in case I don’t update for a while. It doesn’t mean that I’m not continuing this fic. Hope you’re all doing well. I’m also waiting for my Beta-Reader to get some free time to edit my work so sorry for my bad grammar and typos.

 

Update notifications available on my Tumblr account: <https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gryffindorgirl7777>

My email: Gryffindorgirl2010@hotmail.co.uk

 

Original A/N: I was involved in a small RTA 4 years ago. Because of my pre-existing condition I became bedbound for 2 and a half years. And home-bound for another year. I was unable to even sit up to begin with, let alone work at a computer. Even the weight of a laptop was too much for me. With things like that comes depression so for a long time I wasn’t in a place for writing. I still struggle. But I don’t intend on leaving this fic unfinished. I hope you enjoy my first update in a long time and accept my apologies for the mammoth delay in its continuation.

 

Songs: 

Just the Night- Three Laws

What’s Good- Fenne Lily

Couple of Kids- Maggie Lindemann

 

CHAPTER CURRENTLY NOT BETA-READ

 

Chapter Thirty-One

 

** Bleeding  **

 

 

Scabior was a dead man.

He was fighting it, but Scabior knew, knew this was a fight he already had lost. The claws buried in the flesh of his stomach, the fangs at his face, they told him that. The agony that tore through his body _screamed_ it. Gritted teeth, groans and hisses of pain as fists barrelled into both him and the beast above him. But it wasn’t enough.

Greyback had Scabior pinned, up against the wooden wall of his hut. The cabin that had witnessed such chaos and now told a tale of carnage, everything lying in tatters all around them. The cabin he could barely see.

But Scabior could see her, the broken young woman, barely standing and staring at him. She looked so broken, so much like complete and utter desolation personified and her eyes were screaming at him. Those chocolate brown eyes were so loud with the same urgency and desperation that he felt pulsing through his veins. He renewed his fight again, calling on strength he never knew he had. He had to. He knew that it was futile but while he had the monster’s attention, the creature that was sinking his claws into chest wouldn’t turn his attention back to her.

“Go!”

Scabior’s voice tore from his throat as claws tore at his flesh. He tried to push, to force the monster before him backwards, to keep his fangs from sinking into his throat. If it was his skin being pierced, his skin being torn, then the Granger woman had a chance to get away, a chance to escape. A chance to run away from them both- the monsters of men.

In the thrashing, flashing scenes before Scabior’s eyes that was arms and fangs and claws and yellow eyes, he could barely make the Granger woman out behind Greyback’s lumbering form. Why was she still there? Couldn’t she see that he was barely holding on, barely holding the beast before him back. Too soon he’d be a dead man, and she’d be back on Greyback’s menu.

“Go! Run!”

Scabior bellowed again, his voice tearing through the air urgently, desperately. He needed that shattered, injured woman to listen to him, just this once. Everything inside him was screaming at her. Screaming at her to run, to stay alive. Despite himself, despite the urgency to make her flee, something hurt inside. Something deep down- too far for Greyback’s claws to reach- deep, felt like it was bleeding.

Everything was moving too fast. The thrashing of Scabior’s and Greyback’s bodies, his fists bleeding, the skin across his knuckles split as he tried to hit back. He roared out as a fist hit his wounded, bloody stomach, making him close his eyes tightly. He wanted to welcome the darkness, fall inside it. But Scabior wanted her more. Would _always_ want her more. So, he forced his eyes open again, caught a glimpse of the space she had been standing in. Empty.

Slicing, cutting, jarring relief.

Granger was gone.

Why a lump the size of Scabior’s fist was suddenly in his throat he didn’t know. Couldn’t understand.

Just the idea, the broken fragment of thought, in that Scabior had realised that the Granger woman might be gone. It left him feeling completely and utterly bereft. Bereft of thought, bereft of feeling and bereft of mind because quite suddenly, for only a split second he held no care about his own impending doom.

 

Something was tearing at Scabior and it wasn't just the werewolf's talons shredding his skin to pieces. Something so vaguely, at the very- tucked away- back of his head, felt familiar... disturbingly so. So close to _Mudblood whore_... _Stop it_... and screaming bloody murder. Too close but barely touching because those feelings were different yet all stemming from that same keep-it-safe space.

 

Home, loss... _something_.

 

But talons, a claw-like hand, was tearing at Scabior’s chest piercing through his skin, feeling as though it was trying to reach inside and rip his darkened, twisted, corrupted heart from his chest.

 

_Take it. Why would I need it now anyway?_

**_Now?_ **

 

Because that brief, flashing, dangerous and don't-go-there thought had surfaced, for the briefest of seconds before Scabior realised how very close Greyback was to succeeding.

 

As suddenly as the thought had come, it had gone with the realisation of- _No. No you can't take it._

Scabior was trying- and failing- to struggle, to fight back against the monstrous nightmare creature of the night that was tearing him apart. He was staggering as he tried to force himself out from against the wall, being pinned there by the werewolf's brutish strength. Trapped.

 

Scabior needed to stop him. To stop him from killing him, from taking from him what would one day be only memories. Memories he would indulge himself in, twist himself up inside over and ultimately destroy himself with. All whilst trying hopelessly to prevent them from fragmenting into pieces and fading into the ether.

 

Just like those other keep safe, keep secret, keep hidden from the world memories.

 

The Granger woman had run, just like Scabior had told her to... but he wasn't about to let those memories runaway with her... Wasn't about to let this monster take them either. But he was all too aware of the pain, of the haze that covered his sight and of the werewolf's strength baring down upon him. This would be over all too soon and he was powerless to prevent it.

 

Gritting his teeth, Scabior braced himself as pain ripped through him once again and somehow, he knew, knew that the next blow would be the last. But keep Greyback busy, keep him occupied and away from that defenceless woman that was running from him for as long as possible.

 

In that moment Scabior’s heart was beating all very much only for her. For the first time in a very, very long time he had something to protect. Someone to fight for. Someone to _die_ for. He could do at least that much. Let her run, let her escape and let her be his final downfall. A demise he’d accept willingly. He knew that he was a monster but the one gnashing his fangs before him was far worse... and Greyback was winning.

 

Red light.

 

Bright, red light blinded Scabior for a second before both he and Greyback suddenly froze. Rigid. Two different kinds of monster, staring, unfocused eyes on glazed ones. Scabior watched but barely registered the sudden widening of the yellow eyes, mere inches from his face. The snarl from the lips and row of yellowed fangs that had been so almost upon him fell as Scabior watched, unable to comprehend what was happening. His head was pulsing violently as the monster in front of him slowly crumpled to the ground, his own body beginning to fall with it.

 

What had happened? Why was it suddenly so quiet? But Scabior blinked, fighting against the darkness that was creeping in.

 

His back was wet.

Why Scabior took a second to note the wetness of his back, still braced against the wall as he began to slide down it, was beyond him.

As Scabior slid down the wall, the darkness threatened him, like he was falling into it and not to the floor. The screaming was loud… so loud and everything was so suddenly so confusing.

‘ _You piece of filth… Son of a whore… you are nothing! Nothing!_ ’

Scabior wanted to reply, to tell that voice inside his head that he knew, knew that he was nothing. Had known that all along, knew he would never be anything more. But darkness was coaxing, calling to him. That blissful quiet was tempting him, promising to silent his inner demons and screaming body.

Was that a whimper?

From a what seemed like so far away Scabior was sure that he knew that sound and something in his chest stung with a feeling he didn’t know or understand… but it was probably just the torn flesh and bleeding injuries. All that pure-blood-purity was flowing from his veins, across his skin… and what good did that do him now? What good had it ever done him?

The darkness was closing all around him and despite his fighting, he fell into it, let it surround him. Surrendered to the nothingness.

 

Pain. Scabior felt pain and awoke to darkness filled with anger, but not remembering its target. What had happened?

Scabior felt like every muscle in his body was on fire when he became aware of the endless darkness once again. Every nerve ending in his body was blazing, felt like his skin was blistering. Had it been only a moment? Minutes? Or maybe even hours since he had fallen into the dark?

Where had all that noise gone?

 

Scabior could remember screams. The sound of screams and the sensation of tearing skin. More powerful than this was an odd and unfamiliar feeling, the need to protect. The _desperate_ need to protect. But what could be so important for him to be suffering and fighting like that for it? He had nothing in this world, and nothing more precious to him than his own selfish neck. So why had he endured so much? What was it he’d been protecting?

Another sound interrupted his thoughts. A muffled murmur and what was probably only a memory. Just his name. The voice only said his name, and simultaneously it was music to his ears and a cold hand gripping hold of his soul.

Scabior knew that voice. Could see the eyes belonging to it shining through the darkness of his mind. Those deep brown eyes that were always filled with fire. It was her.

And yet it couldn’t be.

Inside the darkness of his mind Scabior remembered the back of a young woman, with long and messy chestnut-brown hair. She was so vivid in his mind’s eye- despite the pain, the haze and bittersweet sadness. That was the back of the young woman that had left through the cabin door, her hair flew wildly out behind her as the wind blew through the door towards her, beckoning… and she obliged by rushing towards it in greeting. She was swallowed up and whisked away in that flurry of windswept hair and impending darkness from the outer corners of his mind.

Salazar help him.

She was gone.

Scabior almost laughed inside, triumphant in that young woman’s victory. She had wanted freedom more than anything, and now she had it… But she never should have had to fight for it in the first place.

If Scabior could have moved, if he was more than just a warped soul wandering in darkness, he would have raised his forearm over his eyes as the pain and sadness engulfed him.

What had he expected? He was a monster and he had behaved abhorrently.

Scabior heard a noise so close to him, breaking the reverie he was drowning in.

Wait.

 

Was he alive?

 

Scabior heard another sound, a crunching of footsteps on broken glass.

 

But _why_ , why was he alive?

 

Blinking didn’t help. Scabior still saw a blur of blinding light. He closed his eyes, tried to shut it out. Fought the darkness that threatened to take him over once again.

Scabior tried to open his eyes once again, but they fell closed all too soon. He _felt_ more than saw as the Granger woman fell in a heap before him. She scrambled, small hands reaching out to his arm, pulling herself up hurriedly as she moved closer. He felt the air around his face stir before her hand reached up to his face. Soft fingers brushed his rough, stubbled cheek and something within him responded to it. Blessed relief overwhelmed him at that touch. She was still alive… no thanks to him.

Scabior wanted to lean into her touch, but his head throbbed with just the idea of movement- and he knew he didn’t deserve it. Didn’t deserve her touch, her soft skin brushing against his.

Hearing the Granger woman’s panicked, uneven breathing, Scabior wanted to reach for her and pull her in, just hold her close to him. His body screamed at him, his head pounding, but he fought it. He fought it just to catch another glimpse of her. Had to know that she was still alright, had to see the damage he had done… because this was all his fault.

Scabior force his eyes open again. He saw her too clearly through the blood that ran from his head and down his face, blinking through the crimson liquid and blurred vision. She looked so ghostly, terribly pale… and how bright that blood looked against her skin.

 

Scabior watched the Granger woman through unfocused eyes as her fingers fumbled to open his shirt and reveal his wounded stomach, his blood covering her hands… the ones that already had dried blood on them. Dried blood. Her blood. _His_ blood. And he was vaguely aware of how the two looked very much the same, his and hers.

With his head spinning viciously as Scabior looked back up at her, he surveyed Granger’s all too pale skin and the fear in her unfocused eyes.

_What was she doing? Why wasn’t she running? Why had she disobeyed him once again?_

So suddenly the Granger woman’s eyes flickered up and met Scabior’s, her eyes slicing through his like broken glass, the sensation of it cuttingly sharp- like a stab to the gut. Her eyes were wide and wild, that usual fire within them was barely burning, just a flicker in the chocolate brown depths. Fear, desperation, confusion and… _something_.

“Scabior?” The Granger woman’s panicked voice reached Scabior over the pounding, pulsing rush that was his head. But he couldn’t reply, couldn’t really comprehend what was happening. Her eyes bore into his for what could only have been a moment but felt like a lifetime.

_Why was she there? He had to be dead, surely, because she had run away… he had told her to run._

Scabior tried to get a read on what the Granger woman was thinking. Was she insane? Those eyes seemed to suggest she might be for a second, before the concern took over. Because that small fire in her eyes was being doused and everything about her radiated urgency.

The fragile and broken young woman before him began to mumble something, and Scabior saw a glow of light coming from her hand, from the injury that had him losing blood and sense and… was that a wand? Was that a wand in her hand? Was she even there?

As the heavily injured woman finished mumbling for a moment, Scabior reached his hand out, slowly, his arm too heavy. He barely felt the soft curls beneath his fingers as they brushed along her silken curls. But it was real. _She_ was real.

_Why hadn’t she run? She never did as he bloody asked._

“Why…” Scabior coughed, trying to get his voice to function as he wished it to. “Why don’ ya ever do as I say?” His voice was raspy, the last comment barely loud enough to hear. He swallowed painfully, tasted the bitter, iron-taste of blood in his mouth.

Brown, bleary eyes blinked hard, trying to focus on the healing wounds that had Scabior bleeding out. Not that he cared in that moment as the relief of her being alive- that selfish relief of her being there, instead of gone- was washing over him.

_What was she doing?_

“What…?” Scabior began and this time Granger heard him, her eyes flickering up to his once more. Those dark brown, wide-eyed orbs were almost painful to look at, because the concern and terror shone so brightly in them. They looked too unfocussed, like her gaze was hazy. Her lips parted as she struggled just to breathe. In the sudden silence- other than the pounding in his head- he heard wheezing coming from her as she breathed, wondered painfully how much Greyback had hurt her before he had gotten there. Her body slumped further causing him to reach up, his hand on her arm. He could still barely feel his fingers, had no grip to hold her up with.

“Stop…”

His broken voice again, because Salazar knew he didn’t deserve this. Scabior didn’t deserve that woman’s care and concern. She shouldn’t be healing him; she should be casting it on herself. There was so much blood… but he began to feel consciousness creeping in once again, fortifying him. Whatever she had done, whatever spell she had cast, it was working.

“Stop,” Scabior said again, firmer this time. He looked on in disbelief as Granger’s brow creased at his words. There was something screaming at him from the depths of those cinnamon brown eyes, but he couldn’t read them.

All Scabior could hear was her panting, saw the air coming up from Granger’s mouth as a fine, white mist. The door remained open and instead of running out of it… she was sat over him.

_She was there with him_.

Too suddenly the Granger woman’s unfocussed eyes rolled upwards. Her body suddenly slumped, and she slipped from where she’d barely been holding herself up on all fours, to sprawling across Scabior’s lap.

Scabior wanted to catch her, to reach out as Granger fell against him, but his body was too slow in response. He ignored the complaint from his body as she fell into his lap, onto his now healing wounds. Fear gripped him once again, had never really left, but returned with vengeance as he reached for her unconscious form. She was breathing and again he was awash with alleviating relief.

Stunned.

Not the Granger woman, but him. Scabior was stunned. He reached his hand out, his blood-covered finger’s stroking along her hair, her head inside his lap.  His eyes ran the length of her, taking in the damage, checking, just to make sure she was still alive again. As her chest rose and fell, the scratches on her back shone up at him, blood oozing from the long gashes in her pale skin.

Why? Why had she helped him?

The Granger woman could have run, fled, taken his wand and gone. Scabior would have died at Greyback’s hands, so it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. He wouldn’t have been able to stop her. She would have gotten away.

So why had she saved him instead?

It was too incomprehensible to him. Scabior couldn’t fathom why on earth that beautiful young woman had done what she’d done.

Scabior reached down, feeling slightly less pain after every moment that passed, despite the injuries to other parts of his body. He gently took his wand from the broken woman’s hand, noticed that even in Granger’s unconscious state; she still clung to it. He noted the bruises on her knuckles, saw the cuts and broken skin. Felt a slight stab of pride in the knowledge that she had fought back.

Granger’s hand slipped to the floor, empty, as Scabior turned his wand in his hand, having felt like he had lost an arm the moment he had dropped it. Now it was back, he felt complete again… almost. He looked down at the woman slumped in his lap and couldn’t help but wonder if that’s how she had felt when she had held his wand inside her hand.

Scabior’s gut churned as he looked the Granger woman over once more. She was a mess. A mass of pale skin, torn flesh and blood. Merlin, there was so much blood.

 

The back of Granger’s dress had been torn open and large, ripping gouges ran along her back, deep and bleeding. There were cuts below her left eye, crimson smeared across her cheek. As Scabior gently brushed her matted hair aside, he could see the deep blemish on her head, turning blue beneath the skin blood still trailing from the open wound on her temple. He looked down, saw the deep claw marks on the back of her thighs, her ripped tights, torn skin. Had to look away, the lump too large in his throat. She looked so bruised, so broken and so small in that moment. He should have protected her. He should have… _something_ more than what he’d done… anything more.

 

The blood, it was so crimson against her pale skin, shining in the dim light that came in from the open door, the door Scabior had told Granger to run to. To run out and to run from. He clenched his wand tightly in his hand, the wheezing of her uneven breathing telling him she had more damage dealt beneath her skin. Wounds that he couldn’t see.

 

Scabior racked his suddenly blank brain, tried to remember all the healing charms he knew. The light of magic from his wand shone against Granger’s skin, just like before, when he had wounded her with that curse from his wand. But his healing charms just weren’t enough. He saw her forehead crease as she emitted a quiet moan of pain. He swallowed down the sickness, the guilt he felt towards her.

 

_Make it better. Heal her, **kill him** and make it better. _

Scabior was purposefully keeping his eyes from the unconscious monster beside him. That screaming rage in the back of his head was pounding, clawing at the inside of his head. But first he had to help Granger, like she had helped him. He had absolutely no doubt in his mind that he’d be dead if it wasn’t for her.

 

Besides Scabior wasn't sure how much killing Greyback might make Granger a bigger target. With all the mistakes he'd made so far perhaps it was better for her to decide what to do with him. If she was more like him maybe she'd even like the chance for vengeance. But Scabior knew that she wasn't like him. Was  _nothing_  like him. For now, he'd watch the unconscious beast and if he moved, he'd hex him until all the rage in him subsided.

 

Scabior’s mind kept flashing back, hearing that young woman’s mind shattering screams as he apparated into the clearing. He kept flashing back to what he saw from the doorway. Greyback’s body over hers, his scraping hand upon her head, pressing it down against the wood of the table. Her eyes closed so tight. And he still had no idea… if he really had prevented the worst of it.

 

Stemming the Granger woman’s bleeding with that pitiful, mediocre charms, Scabior’s brow was wet with sweat at the effort it was taking from his pain-racked body. The skin on her back was trying to heal over, the gouges less deep now. His fingers brushed lightly across the red marks on the healed parts of her skin as he took a deep breath. Pulled his fingers away and closed his eyes for a moment, because he didn’t deserve to touch her. Not like that.

 

He had left her.

 

That was the screaming mantra repeating in Scabior’s head. He had thought he was protecting that woman when he left and kept that distance between them… but he had failed, abysmally so.

 

_You’re a worthless maggot! Scum! You think because your whore of a mother was a pureblood, that because she fucked with a pureblood, that it makes you worthy of our name?_

The pounding and heated pulse of Scabior’s blood beneath his skin made him queasy, as it always did when those thoughts, those memories consumed him.

 

_You’re nothing! Worthless! Couldn’t protect your whore of a mother, can’t even protect yourself!_

The throbbing pain of Scabior’s body reminded him of the beatings, the ones that plagued his childhood. He’d always known pain, felt worthless, felt guilty. But this… this was something else. This was _raw_.

 

Scabior forced his eyes open again, his brain jarring inside his skull, at both the light and the desolation of the young woman before him. He wiped his brow, aware he was smearing the blood from his hand across his head, mixing it with the sweat. His attention returned to the only charms that he knew; his magic having always been insufficient. He always had been- insufficient. So always not enough. All he wanted was to heal her broken body, beyond what the monster there had done. Wanted to heal the laceration he’d marred her beautiful creamy skin with, the one that lay over her heart.

 

But he couldn’t.

 

Scabior looked down at that beautiful woman’s perfect face, all that purity bleeding out- not the blood of course- but her innocence. How many times had he stolen more of it from her? Ruined her with his corruption? His perversion.

 

Lifting his bruised, shaking and heavy arm, Scabior raised his hand and covered his eyes. Tried to hide from her brightness. Because the guilt he felt, the _shame_ he had was swirling and churning inside his gut and tearing him up inside. He had tried his hardest to keep his distance, but he knew now that he’d been doomed all along. Doomed since the day that he’d smelt the Granger woman’s perfume deep inside the forest. Although he’d never seen her then, he knew that she’d been there, and that’s when his addiction had started.

 

Scabior felt a light twitching sensation against his thigh and looked down. Granger’s blood covered fingers were twitching of her own accord. He looked to her face again but saw no sign of her waking. He knew it was perverse of him. Knew it was wrong, but even that slight movement of her fingers brushing against his thigh, was enough to spark something within him. Maybe not as powerful as usual, but it was still there all the same. That something primal, that made his heart beat just that little bit faster.

 

But a lump was forming in Scabior’s throat as he looked down at her; the innocent beauty broken and bloody in his lap. Because he knew that the only thing that he could do to keep her safe from him, was to set her free.

 

Scabior’s quivering fingers reached up, brushing more tendrils of blood-soaked hair back from Granger’s face gently. Her fingers twitched lightly against his thigh again as he stared intently at her, silently wishing that her eyes would open. For him to see them engulfed in flames once more, even if they were staring daggers in her hatred for him. He knew they couldn’t of course, knew that she was far too broken for her to wake.

 

Scabior didn’t like the way her fingers kept twitching, like the Granger woman was amid a fitful nightmare. So, he softly took her hand in his; wet from the blood and icy cold.

He couldn’t stop shaking, could barely remember a time he’d ever been that afraid. Except maybe once…

 

It reminded Scabior so suddenly of something… an image or a concept that was just barely there. The experience akin to when fragrances trigger a memory within you, but you can’t quite grab a hold. Like trying to cling to water.

 

A cold hand in his.

 

“Be a good boy… do as you’re told…” A rasping laboured and almost inaudible voice.

 

A cold hand in his… a lifeless hand.

 

Scabior had to swallow down the sickness.

 

Rubbing his thumb over the bruises on the Granger woman’s knuckles, Scabior felt the cuts there. There were splinters and shards of glass embedded in them, and his other arm made him groan out in pain when he lifted it, to pluck them from her skin with his dextrous fingers.

 

Another memory… another voice.

 

_“In this life we do what we have to do to survive. Whatever it takes. And if, baby boy, it comes down to your life and someone else’s, then you’d better make damn sure that you’re the one that makes it out alive.”_

 

Of all the awful things that Scabior had done in his life, (of which there were many,) what he’d done to the unconscious beauty in his lap had to be the worst. He had never been more captivated by any other woman... and he’d never felt that much shame.

 

The Granger woman was _in_ him. In his bloodstream. Scabior breathed her in with every breath; that vanilla-scented poison. Her scent clinging to his pores. Her pure, light-hearted venom was eating him up inside. She was toxic but the best kind of poison. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. Almost felt the heat from the flames in those cinnamon coloured eyes. The colour of mud. The same that _apparently_ ran through her veins.

 

But as Scabior searched the carnage in front of him, he could only see crimson.

 

Scabior had tried to fight that woman’s light, the one that shone into his darkness. Tried to fight the tide as it swept him closer to her over and over again. His lust for her was unparalleled by any other he’d experienced. As he sat there, barely alive and silently begging her to fight for hers, he knew that something had to give.

 

With an exhale of breath, Scabior dropped his wand, letting it roll close enough to his leg that he could be sure that Greyback couldn’t get it first if he woke. He leant his head back on the blood coated wall behind him and closed his eyes. He couldn’t let himself fall into the darkness that still called temptingly to him, but he could give up the fight with her. He was done. This was his endgame.

 

Because everything that Scabior had done had made things worse, hurt her worse… and it was killing him.

 

 

A/N: I hope you like it and it would be lovely to hear from you so if you get a chance please leave me a review. They’re very encouraging on my down days. Thank you all. X

 


	32. Swaying

[ ](https://imgur.com/7q7j2yE)

 

 

New A/N:  Sorry that these updates are a lot slower from before. So, I went to London and had my hospital appointment and they’ve approved me for the surgery! 😊 Thank you so much for all the wonderful messages of support. I really, sincerely appreciate it. I don’t know when the surgery will be because of the Coronavirus. Rehab is going well but I’ve been really busy in the garden growing veg and also with things for my wedding that might not even be happening, so it’s been stress central here. I’ve found it more challenging to get into the writing zone and have been focussing on self-care and staying on top of my mental-health what with everything going on but I promise, I’m getting there!  
Anyway here’s an update and it’s dedicated to all of you that got me through what has been an anxiety ridden few months. <3 I hope you’re all keeping safe and well and enjoying hermit life <3

Original A/N: As I said in my last update I am still recovering. I have to also juggle my mental health. Turns out that being bed bound for over two years isn’t exactly healthy. XP So I do apologise for slow updates. But I do intend on finishing this fic­­­.

 

Maybe I’m a monster- Andrew Powell, Tara Chantelle Chinn, Vance Westlake

As always you can keep track of updates on my Tumblr or email me at any time.   
Tumblr- <https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gryffindorgirl7777>  
Email- Gryffindorgirl2010@hotmail.co.uk  
  


Chapter Thirty-Two

** Swaying. **

 

Darkness. Blessed, empty darkness.

Out of the dark Hermione heard a voice, so softly calling to her. Was that mum? Her heart clenched tightly, like it had been trapped inside a vice.

“Breakfast is ready!”

It was mum and suddenly Hermione was sat in the kitchen, looking around, her mother on one side of the table, her father on the other. She was sat at one end, the other empty. But it wasn’t her kitchen. Despite this fact, she wasn’t even remotely bothered. She felt no panic as just sat and took in the smiling faces of her parents.

Hermione looked longingly up at her mother and father, committing their faces to memory. Her father’s brown hair and brown eyes, which had creases and laughter lines around the edge of them. Her mother’s green eyes; so familiar in that moment and reminding her so much of someone else she couldn’t quite place. Both looked older than she remembered them, like she had been away from them for far too long, but she was there now, sat before them and drinking them in. It was just a normal breakfast with them, but she couldn’t put her finger on why she felt like she’d missed them, like they’d been apart for a long time. Or why her heart hurt.

“Aren’t you hungry, Honey?” Hermione’s dad asked her over his newspaper. She saw moving images in the black and white print but looked down to her empty bowl.

_Was she hungry?_

No, not hungry… but something else.

“I’m so proud, my little girl is head girl.” Hermione’s mum was saying, pride shining from her eyes as she spoke. It was almost painful to look at. Why was that?

“You’d better be off. I know you’ll make us proud sweetheart.” Her mother’s hand lovingly cupped her cheek. Make them proud. Why did it hurt to hear that?

“’Mione, are you coming?”

Hermione turned her head at the voice, already associating the red hair with the person the voice belonged to before she saw him. Ron. Ronald Weasley, her first love. Her first betrayal. The tall and freckled youth stood beside Harry, bag on his shoulder, but she frowned a little. Their uniform was wrong.

“Yes.” Hermione replied, shaking the thought about the boy’s uniforms from her head, because so suddenly she was aware of how much she needed to be at their side. She ached with the need to follow along beside them. Couldn’t bear the heartache that abruptly swelled in her chest. Tears rolled down her cheeks unbidden, she felt them falling but ignored them as she ran to catch up with them.

“’Mione.”

Harry’s voice. Harry, her Harry. Reliable Harry. Burdened Harry. And oh, how Hermione wanted to alleviate those burdens, the obligations Professor Dumbledore had set for him, whilst keeping Harry completely in the dark. How she wanted to help, to promise that she could make things better, because she always had the answers, _didn’t she_? She looked down, a book in her hands, like it would hold all the solutions. But when she looked down at the pages, she found them blank.

Hermione looked up, saw that both Harry and Ron had walked ahead, were walking away, leaving her.

“Wait!” Hermione cried, running to catch up, turning more and more pages in the book she still held in her hands, all in the desperate hope of helping both Harry and Ron. In the vain hope of saving them.

But Hermione couldn’t catch up. The distance between her and the two boys just stretched between them before suddenly the ground was rushing up to meet her and she slammed into it, crying out as she fell.

Wet leaves, moss, mud and that scent of evergreens. It both comforted and terrified her.

“Harry! Ron!” Hermione’s voice reverberated around the forest as she got to her feet, turning on the spot, trying to find a single sign of which direction they’d gone in. Her heart began to pound louder, and a sense of trepidation began to seep within her skin. She wasn’t alone.

Hermione felt someone’s gaze on her, and it had her transfixed.  She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Wasn’t sure she wanted to. Whoever’s eyes were staring out at her, she felt them, slicing through her skin and into her soul. She felt it in her core… and it both excited and terrified her.

A growl. Hermione turned at the sound, but too suddenly there were claws and fangs and fear. She was pushing, trying to force the beast back. A giant wolf, bearing its full weight down on her. Crushing her, clawing her. Screams, from her as she looked up into its yellow eyes… and the knowledge that this creature was going to win.

The dark grey, matted fur of the beast above Hermione stank, wet dog and the smell of rotten flesh from its dripping teeth. It was snapping, snarling, slicing at her and she couldn’t hold it back. Closed her eyes tight, because what else could she do?

The beast above Hermione was abruptly forced from above her in a crash that knocked the yellow eyed brute to the ground with a reverberating thud. She looked up and into the piercing eyes of another wolf, a silver one, with icy, grey-blue eyes. It stared at her, those eyes that jarred her body to its very core. She knew those eyes. Had felt them trailing across her skin just moments ago. Knew the monster they belonged to.

A clash of bodies, of beasts colliding. Both wolves were striking out, fangs and claws were ripping into flesh and Hermione felt it. Felt each slicing assault as though it was her own skin being ripped apart. She heard her screams before she was aware that she was screaming, felt her hands grasping at her hair, felt her knees bend before she crouched on the ground. Like a slow-motion train crash, she couldn’t look away. She felt the force, the power behind each beast, felt it’s primal need to kill to survive. Felt it like it was her own. It belonged to her-- that desperation.

“Stop!” Hermione’s shriek, tearing from her mouth and she felt those eyes on hers again. Like time stood still that gaze paralysed her, her heart pounding, blood pulsing, that rushing in her ears. And she saw, before the owner of those crystalline eyes did, the fangs sinking into its neck. The crimson liquid pouring over silver fur. She couldn’t stop screaming. Felt like a part of her was dying inside.

But then yellow eyes were fixed on Hermione’s, and they weren’t haunting in the same way those icy grey-blue ones were. These were dead eyes. Eyes that showed that the monster’s soul was dead inside, wretched and rotten to the core. There could be no doubt, when she looked into those eyes, she knew that they spelled doom.

There was no one to save Hermione now, nothing between her and that powerful, throat-ripping killer. She had to get away, had to run, had to flee. But her feet wouldn’t move. They were rooted to the spot and all she could do was scream as the fur-matted beast leapt at her, blood drenching the fur around its jaws.

 

Hermione startled suddenly, and pain flooded her body from the darkness. She let out a moan, because everything about her hurt. She wanted to return to the darkness, the nothing, the second between nightmares and waking. Because that nightmare had jarred her, and the terror was still rife inside her. But waking, moving, it shouldn’t be that painful. It had never been _this_ painful before.

_Get up Hermione. Get up._

That insistent voice inside her head, the one that kept her safe, it was crying out at her and clawing from the inside of her head.

_Get up and Run. Find Harry. Find Ron._

The tangy taste of iron filled Hermione’s mouth, sickening her. She groaned, couldn’t help it, as she tried to lift her head a little and felt like it had been weighed down with lead. She lay her head back down, became aware of a stickiness at her temple, at the place where it was throbbing. Was she even human anymore? Or just one giant bruise? Because her whole body hurt like hell.

Hermione had feared before. Had felt the terror grip her when she heard Voldemort’s voice inside her head. The Horcrux had reminded her of all the reasons she should be afraid. Of all the reasons why she wasn’t good enough, clever enough, strong enough… _pure_ enough… in more ways than one.

But this was a new kind of terror. This was a survival impulse that would keep Hermione alive and everything about her felt like she was barely that- alive.

It wasn’t as though Hermione had never thought about her death before. Prepared for it, imagined it, in a multitude of ways. It had become part and parcel of being friends with Harry Potter- The chosen one. The boy who lived- Of growing up in mortal danger and of having Lord Voldemort as an enemy.

In all the times Hermione had envisioned her death though, she’d never imagined the pain. Not really. But then she’d never imagined that _anything_ could hurt this much, that this much pain was even possible. Because without even moving there was a dull and pulsing agony in her side, where she’d been hit and booted fiercely after being thrown to the floor. Without moving she could be certain from the pain that at least a couple of ribs had broken.

Hermione remembered the clawing, gouging, ripping of the skin on her back. Was surprised it didn’t feel so much worse. As it was the skin was sore, it stung, but it was bearable. The tearing pain at the top of her thighs on the other hand… well they were another thing entirely.

Once the jarring of Hermione’s whole nervous system subsided slightly, Hermione was again struck by the awareness that; yes, she was very much alive thank you. But why? And how? Because things were still hazy, a muddle inside her head. Flashes of memory confused with images from her nightmare. She wanted to raise a hand to her head, but her arm was like lead.

_Get up and get up now if you want to stay alive!_

Did she? Did she want to? Because that was the million-dollar question wasn’t it? After everything, and after all this pain-- did Hermione want to live? Did she want to get up and claw herself back up after falling from the precipice? She had fallen, so hard, so fast and delved in the dark into that terrible abyss.

‘ _Make us proud.’_

Hermione heard her parent’s voices in her head but how was she supposed to do that anymore? She couldn’t remember the reason for it, but shame clung to her. Shame, survival and that agonising pain. Her ears were ringing with the snarls and growls and the crashing of bodies slamming together.

Hermione managed to move a couple of fingers, was able to lift her heavy eyelids, one throbbing as she did so. She had to blink, the light shining in was blinding. Where was she? If she wasn’t dead, then how was she alive? As she opened her eyes again, she saw blood. Blood on black and grey plaid. Her heart began to beat a little faster as her brain tried to fight against all the haze and the fog. She knew that pattern, those colours… but the blood.

_Blood… You really should be running._

But how could Hermione run when she could barely lift her head? Her eyes were blurry and unfocused but the scent that filled her nostrils was undeniable. The smell of evergreens, wood smoke and that other something she’d never been able to put her finger on. Her heart began to hammer against her chest, like it was trying to break free of her ribcage.

_No. Not you._

Because there was so much blood and Hermione knew that she shouldn’t care, should probably have been glad, relieved even to see it but it brought to her a new fear. As she began to realise whose legs she was sprawled upon, whose lap she’d fallen in, her heart and mind began to race.

_Don’t let him be dead._

It was nonsensical but Hermione didn’t care, she just needed desperately for the Snatcher to be alive. Her eyes traced his blood smeared torso, his shirt still hanging open.

_Please don’t be dead._

The Snatcher’s head rested back against the wall; his eyes closed to the world. His brown hair was painted redder that usual, hiding his face from view as it hung limply around his face. Hermione’s heart suddenly hurt. He wasn’t moving,

But that was when Hermione realised that yes, his chest was undeniably rising and falling; a little unevenly maybe, but he was definitely alive. Bruises and half-healed wounds littered his chest, the red and injured tissue stretching with every breath. Some of the claw marks were still bleeding, crimson oozing from the scratches that she hadn’t had a chance to heal yet.

Because suddenly Hermione could remember what she’d done. That she’d stunned Greyback, had scrambled over to Scabior and begun to heal his wounds, despite the screaming in her head. In fact, healing him was the last thing she remembered, and to do that she needed a wand.

Hermione’s eyes darted around the floor of the cabin hurriedly, seeking to find the instrument that had given her that power. She struggled to sit herself up, but she cried out at the stretching of the gouges on her back. Her head spun as she searched wildly around her, tears in her eyes from the pain. It hurt just to breathe.

Finally, her eyes landed on the wand not far from the Snatcher’s hand. She snatched it hurriedly, holding it in one hand tightly whilst the other held her up. She pointed it hurriedly up at the Snatcher, but he hadn’t moved. Hadn’t even opened his eyes. So, she pointed it at the monster that lay beside her. Her whole arm shook fiercely as she pointed the wand at Greyback.

_You should kill him._

It was the first time. The _only_ time that she’d ever really considered taking another life. She knew of all the reasons not to. She was best friend of Harry Potter, the Golden Child. The pinnacle of the fight for everything good and light.  Knew that she couldn’t ever afford to become a monster, to fall prey to the darkness like their enemies. But now she was staring at the shaggy mountain of a man, shaking so violently that her broken skin stretched further, and she couldn’t stop. Didn’t think that she could ever stop.

_Kill him. Do it now. Do the world a favour._

Hermione cried harder with frustration at the fight waging inside her, because Merlin help her, she wanted to. She wanted to punish him for what he’d done to her but more than that, she wanted to ensure that he could never, ever do that to anyone else ever again. For the first time in her life Hermione Granger wanted to cast one of those dark and dangerous hexes she’d so often read about, only to be prepared and to protect herself from. For the first time she wanted another being to suffer… and she hated herself for it.

A sob broke out in the motionless cabin. A sob of frustration and anger and hatred. Hatred for not just the beast before her, but for herself, because just look at who she had become. Hermione was slumped there, barely holding herself up and wanting to snuff another life out of that already too dark world.

Becoming this was everything she’d warned against, been warned against. ‘ _Constant vigilance_ ,’ Barty Crouch Jr had advised them when he taught Moody’s lessons, but she’d had no idea that the person she had to worry about was herself.

Hermione’s chest heaved as her broken sobs filled the wooden cabin, seeming too loud to her ears. But she didn’t care, the tears fell, and she let them, let herself cry out as she held tightly to the wand. Wanting. Wanting more than anything to murder the monster before her.

_Do it, stupid girl. Do it before he can kill **you**. Do it before he can do it again, to you, to others. It would only be one little spell. Just the one. Just this one time. No one would have to know. Just do it. Go on! Do it now!_

Hermione let out one more cry, let it reverberate around her very soul before she began to take a breath, gripping her wand tighter in her resolve. She closed her eyes once, forcing more tears down her cheeks. She opened them, ready.

“You gonna kill ‘im pet?”

Brown eyes widened and Hermione expelled a gasp. The cry she let out as she turned immediately to face the Snatcher rang out around them. Her arm still violently shaking she pointed her wand at the him, point blank in the face. And those eyes still pierced her to the core.

 

Scabior had remained slumped against the wall for at least an hour. Maybe longer? Who knew anymore? Because he was too busy torturing himself with memories. Still drowning in the guilt. He was conscious and as far as he was concerned that was a win. He listened carefully to the breathing of the hulking creature on the floor beside him, his wand mere inches away if needed.

Unexpectedly there came a shift in the young woman’s breathing. A sensation of fingers twitching on Scabior’s thigh again. Just a light tickle. He could almost feel her heart pounding against her chest through his legs. Her breathing was fast, uneven and frantic.

Scabior opened his eyes, watched the Granger woman’s eyelashes flicker against her cheeks, like black butterflies on pale cream silk. Her red lips were paler than usual, as was her skin beneath the blood and bruises. Her breath rose in a small mist as her chest rose and fell rapidly. He realised then that he should have found a blanket for her, tried to warm her up. But as usual he hadn’t done what he should have. Shouldn’t even be looking at her. He closed his eyes again in revulsion at himself. She was like this because of him. But no more. He let his head fall back against the wall again and closed his eyes.

_Just let her wake. Leave her be._

So, Scabior kept his eyes closed, tried not to flinch when the woman on his lap startled awake. He heard her let out a moan of pain and his heart clenched painfully. It took longer than it should have done before she even lifted her head from his lap. He felt her weight shift and then another cry rang out as she sat herself up. A few moments later he felt her move, felt her reach down to where he’d left his wand.

There. It was done. Now that the Granger woman had a wand in her hand there was nothing Scabior could do anymore. Nothing. She had all the power in her hands. She could even kill him if she wanted and Salazar help him, he wouldn’t blame her. Couldn’t blame her at all.

Scabior felt the injured woman’s attention turn to the unconscious animal on the floor beside him. Felt a fresh wave of rage and fury hit him again. He could feel her shaking, violently. Everything inside him screamed out to touch her, to comfort her. Something he wasn’t used to doing. He wanted to pull her into his arms, tell her that everything would be okay. That she was safe now. But he knew that if he could touch her then those words would be a lie.

Scabior felt Granger freeze. Well, as frozen as she could be whilst shaking so aggressively. It worried him. Scared him more when he heard her gut-wrenching sob. The floodgates had opened, and she was crying out gutturally, the sound tearing at his heart. He couldn’t help himself, his eyes flew open, the light that still shone in from the snow-covered ground made his head pulse.

The young woman, who Scabior had seen stand so tall and defiantly against him so many times was now sobbing so hard that she was barely holding herself up. And it was killing him.

Scabior watched her silently. He was good at that, watching. The broken woman before him was sobbing but trying to keep his wand pointed at Greyback’s form. Her eyes were staring daggers at the unconscious beast, but there was no fire there, they just looked… dark. He could see the hatred burning there where the flames had once been. The anger and hatred radiated from her to the extent that he felt like he could hear her thoughts.

_Kill him. Kill the monster. Kill him before he kills me._

Scabior couldn’t agree more. The rage boiled inside him. He wanted to rip the bastard’s head off, because how dare he touch her? How dare he hurt her, make her bleed, make her suffer? But that roiling anger inside of him was joined by another, more unpleasant thought.

_Don’t let him win. Don’t become like him… like me._

The sudden sensation of dread, turning Scabior’s blood cold at the thought that he had resulted in something catastrophic. Resulted in the Granger woman breaking, sinking into his darkness entirely. He had always believed that she was the one with poison running through her veins, that sweet vanilla poison that invaded his senses. But really it was him. He was the poison. His fear had been that he’d ruin her, taint her pureness with his corruption. And here his worst fear was unfurling itself in front of him.

Scabior had to do something to quell the churning in his stomach and in his head.

_Don’t let this happen to her._

Scabior knew that once that young woman cast that spell, she could never take it back, and killing another individual changed you somewhere deep inside. It twisted and turned you into something much less like yourself. It made you hollow in places, spread its cracks so that everything good would leak out leaving the darkened shell of what once was. The thought of that happening to her was almost too much to bear and she had that murderous rage glinting in her eyes. If he didn’t stop her now it would be too late.

“You gonna kill ‘im pet?”

Scabior had no idea why he said what he did. Just anything to get the Granger woman’s attention, to turn that wand from the object of her fury. There was a very real likelihood that he was about to be the one at the end of a killing curse, but for her he’d take his chances.

When the broken woman’s wide eyes landed on his, Scabior heard the sharp intake of her breath. He looked down at the wand, mere millimetres from his face. Her arm couldn’t keep steady, but her gaze did as she stared at him.

“You.”

The venom dripped from Granger’s voice as she managed to breathe the word from between her lips. Scabior saw the usual crease in her brow line as she narrowed her eyes and glared at him. He knew what she was thinking.

_You did this to me. This is all your fault._

“Go on then.” Scabior prompted her, purposefully reminding her of how much of a dick he could be. “Let’s see what little miss Gryffindor can do.” But he was in so much pain and so exhausted that his voice held none of his usual swagger. He merely sounded defeated.

Scabior watched, waiting, expecting a flash of light from his own wand. He almost felt he needed it. A punishment for all the wrongs he’d done. It wasn’t like he didn’t deserve it and more. But as he held the broken, beautiful woman’s gaze, his head still leaning back against the wall, he saw a tiny flicker of something light inside her eyes. It was like a small flame had suddenly been lit inside her head, shining out through her eyes just that little bit and it was a reminder to her of who she was.

“Where’s my wand?” Granger bit out between her gritted teeth, slipping for a second as her arm threatened to give way from holding her shaking form up. She always kept his wand on him, never moving her attention from him. Scabior could see that beneath the cut skin and dried blood on her hand, her knuckles were white with how tight her grip was on it.

Scabior barely inclined his head in the direction of the storage cupboard.

“Locked in there.” Scabior replied, looking back at her defeatedly. He watched as Granger gave him a scrutinising look before eyeing the storage room.

“Don’t move.” The shaking woman warned him angrily.

“Didn’t plan on it love.” Scabior replied, looking down at the state he was in as if that was obvious.

“Alohomora.” Granger murmured as the wand lit up, the lock on the storage room clicking to the side, the door opening slightly. “Accio wand.” Her voice rang out into the cold, quiet cabin. Scabior watched as she flicked his wand before suddenly her wand flew from the cupboard, into her hand. He watched as a form of relief washed over her slumped form as she held her wand in her hand. He knew that feeling. Her wand was back on him in seconds but as she twisted, she cried out in pain, bringing her hand to her side.

“Yeah, my healing is subpar love, sorry abou’ that.” Scabior said, watching as fresh tears slipped from her eyes as Granger glared at him, livid and with gritted teeth. The guilt churned tighter inside him.

“I should kill you.” The young woman bit back at him. Her eyes glared hot, wet and deadly into his.

“Yeah, per’aps yer should.” Scabior whole heartedly agreed, putting his weight on his arms, trying to pull himself up more, but his arms failed him, and he slumped back down, eyes gazing into hers. He’d let her do whatever she wanted. Let her finish him if she wanted to, because that pain in her eyes-- that was his doing.

 

Hermione’s eyes burned with anger, wet and hot and she had to blink the fresh tears back that the pain in her side had caused. She couldn’t believe it. What had she been about to do? If the Snatcher hadn’t spoken up when he did… well. As she looked him over, him looking as broken as she felt, if not worse, she couldn’t help but hold his gaze.

Brown eyes stared into the glaciers that pierced her. But they weren’t cold, weren’t as calculating as usual. In fact, they held defeat in them. Hermione gripped her wand, not liking the way her stomach churned at that knowledge. She tore her eyes away from the Snatcher’s, looking down at the other monster, the one she’d been about to murder.

“Incarcerous.” Hermione’s voice rang out clearly as she flicked her wrist. Ropes appeared, tying themselves around Greyback’s hulking form. When she was happy that the ropes were enough to restrain him, she turned back to the Snatcher. “Where are my things?”

Scabior nodded again at the cupboard before he appeared to remember something.

“There’s another of them bastards ou’ there.” The Snatcher inclined his head in the direction of the door and Hermione eyed him suspiciously.

_It’ll be a trap._

But Hermione couldn’t very well ignore the possibility. She considered restraining the Snatcher as well but looking over his injured body she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She might be more than royally pissed with him, but she didn’t want to cause him more pain. “If you move one muscle, I _will_ hex you.” She warned him angrily.

“Yeah, yeah.” The Snatcher breathed tiredly, and Hermione realised that she wasn’t sure if he even _could_ move a muscle. She put even more of her weight on her shaking arm as she tried to push herself up to her feet. She cried out and sobbed again when she shakily got to her feet, her legs were barely able to hold her up. She swayed dangerously and reached a hand to her head, the other still pointing her wand at him. She felt the wet, sticky blood on her temple, brought her hand down and saw the blood and she stumbled slightly.

“Fix yerself up first.” The Snatcher’s voice was gravelly, taut and containing something too close to concern for Hermione’s liking. She ignored it, swallowing.

Hermione’s head was spinning painfully, the room moving as she tried to keep her balance. Her hand went down to her side again and she grit her teeth in pain as she straightened, the damaged skin on her back stretching. She tried to take a step towards the door but the whole room moved in another direction, causing her to lose her balance. She called out as she saw the ground rush up to her, before closing her eyes and bracing for more pain.

A groan sounded in Hermione’s ear as something firm, yet gentle wrapped around her. The groan was one of pain, breathing against her ear suddenly. Her eyes snapped open and looked up in surprise. Surprise at falling, surprise at the Snatcher catching her and surprise as he made no attempt to take her wand from her.

Hermione stilled; her breath caught in her chest at how hard she fell into him. How hard the Snatcher was staring into her eyes. Those blue-grey irises thinned as his eyes dilated, dark black holes staring up at her. Her mouth dried, her heart pounding. Her body at an angle where he’d stopped her before she hit the ground, she was suspended, her weight in his hands. The sudden closeness of their proximity consuming her.

Scabior wasn’t sure how he’d managed to move to the Granger woman in time, especially when he could barely sit up before. But something had coursed through him when he saw her stumble. Perhaps it was adrenaline. Instinct. But as she slumped into his arms, her hand fisted into his open shirt, he had to swallow. His mouth was dry. His heart was pounding against his chest, his body singing despite the pain of his injuries. Her lips parted and he took in how surprised she looked, how she looked like she belonged in his arms. Fuck.

Scabior didn’t move, couldn’t bring himself to do so in case the injured woman fled from him. Of course, her hand was still gripped around his and her own wand. However, she hadn’t used either of them. Not yet anyway. He watched as she winced, shifting slightly and he realised that his arm was rubbing along the slashes on her back. All too soon she was using her grip on his open shirt to pull herself up, her feet scrambling to find purchase on the floor.

Reluctantly Scabior helped Granger up and onto her feet and she scurried away, pointing her wand at him, swaying dangerously again. He went to take a step towards her, to help steady her.

“Stop!” The Granger woman’s clear, loud voice reverberated through his very bones. The aches and pains of Scabior’s body crying out as he stood on his feet. Lifting his arms in a show of surrender, he gazed back at her silently. He could see that her breathing was still uneven, her breath rising. She turned to the door again and stumbled over to it, her wand pointing at the open doorway, arm still shaking.

The Granger woman must have found the unconscious form of another Snatcher because she began to wave her wand. “Incarcerous.” she said clearly again, looking as though more energy was leaving her as she cast it. She turned back to the Snatcher, saw that he hadn’t moved and for a second looked relieved. She leant on the kitchen cupboard for a moment before staggering back into the room.

 “Do you have any potions? Anything to help this?” The injured young woman asked, gesturing to her injuries. Again, Scabior knew there were more there beneath her woollen dress than what he could see. Her hand reached up to pull the dress back up her shoulder as it began to slip, the back of it hanging almost completely open.

“If I could afford potions, I’d ‘ave fed yer one rather than tha’ botch job.” Scabior replied, referring to some of his healing charms.  
“Right.” Granger acknowledged, looking around for goodness knew what. “First aid kit?” She asked, wincing and swaying again.

Keeping his hands in the air Scabior began to side-step to the storage cupboard. He glanced over, looking through the slightly open door. He saw the box with it in on a shelf and pointed at it. He kept his eyes on Granger as she walked over to the cupboard unsteadily. She kept her wand pointed at him but glanced in to see the box on the shelf.

“And my things?” Granger asked him, and Scabior stepped closer to the cupboard, kicking the door open a little more.  
“There. In the trunk.” He nodded down at the big wooden trunk on the floor. His body was screaming at him to sit down before he fell down, but the hard look she gave him told him not to move.

“One wrong move and I swear…” The Granger woman began again.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” Scabior growled quietly in annoyance, his hands still up in a gesture of surrender. Watching as Granger knelt in front of the chest he cringed when she moaned in pain at the movement. He heard her rummage in the chest, searching for the vestiges of clothing he had taken from her.

“You’ve had my bag, this whole time?” Granger’s somewhat muffled voice called out in annoyance from the cupboard. Scabior rolled his eyes. Of course, he had. The moment he’d decided back at Malfoy Manor that he was going to take her, he had stuffed her clutch bag into his pocket. Then he heard her cry out in pain again and moved, looking in through the door to see her on one knee, her hand clutching her side.

“’ere.” Scabior bent to help her.  
“Don’t.” Granger snapped at him, but he noticed she didn’t turn her wand on him. He growled and ignored her, bending to help her up. She grabbed the clothing and bag he had hidden and reluctantly she let him help her over to the bed where he set her down. She hissed in pain as her torn up thighs hit the blanket.

Hermione immediately delved into her bag, and Scabior watched as her arm disappeared into it. She rummaged around, looking for something. Probably something to help with her current predicament he reasoned. However, she was to be sorely disappointed. So many of her things had been taken back at Malfoy Manor. Usually they divided up the spoils, but he had taken _her_ instead. He watched as she sighed, closing her bag once more.

“Accio first-aid kit.” Granger murmured, looking tired and in such agony… just like him. Scabior looked over her back again, sitting down beside her and taking a risk, beginning to stroke her bare shoulder. Her skin was so soft beneath his slightly calloused fingers. Scabior watched as the kit landed on the bed in front of her as she directed it with her wand.

Scabior felt Granger flinch at his touch, could almost feel the waves of seething anger coming from her. But she didn’t hex him he noticed, and then wondered if she was conserving her energy. Wondered if she even had energy left enough for spells. She fiddled with a bottle of anti-sceptic, trying to pull the cork out, her thin fingers still shaking. Her other hand reached for some gauze which she used to put the anti-sceptic on. She hissed as she twisted, trying to reach over her shoulder to the gouges on her back.  
“Ahhh!” she let out another cry, clutching her side against as she twisted.

“’ere. Gimme that.” Scabior said a little roughly as he snatched the gauze from the wounded woman, glancing up to see that tears of pain leaked from her eyes. He took the moistened gauze and looked at her for a second, her teeth gritted in frustration at needing him to help her. Merlin, her wand was still pointed at him. He ran his rough fingers over her smooth skin before pressing the gauze against one of the gashes on her back. She tensed in pain, whimpering but obviously staying determined not to show how much it hurt.

“They’ll notice ‘im missin’ soon.” Scabio said, his voice scraping as he glanced up at her. He was of course referring to the hulking behemoth that was Greyback. “If ‘e don’t report in soon… they’ll come lookin’.”

Scabior barely saw the small inclination of Granger’s head in acknowledgement before her free hand raised to her head again. Once the wave of pain and dizziness left her, he saw her bite her lower lip. She seemed to realise like he had, that she was in no fit state to disapparate safely. Not liking to see the fearful scowl on her forehead Scabior returned his attentions to her wounds, ignoring the ache and pains of his own.

Dried blood began to smear across Granger’s pale skin as Scabior began to wipe at the injuries marring her delicate skin. These were going to scar. His bruised hand used the gauze to wipe at the wounds, her teeth gritted, her body tensing as he did so. His free hand held her upper arm in a soft yet firm grip. She could get away, pull away from him and run. He wasn’t holding her to prevent her doing so, just held her because he needed to. His thumb rubbed against her smooth skin, trying to soothe her in his own small way.

“Don’t.” The Granger woman warned him, her voice sounding torn. But Scabior ignored her like he usually did. Once he’d cleaned the wounds on her back, he began to place a dressing on them, careful to avoid the newly healed areas which were still tender. She inhaled sharply as he pressed the dressings against her. Then he looked over her arms, her head, also knowing that she also had claw marks between her legs.

“I-I can do the rest.” Granger said quickly, her voice quiet. “Get up and go stand there.” She instructed him, her wand still on him. Scabior did as he was told, grunting at the pain the movement caused. “Now turn around and don’t move.” She seethed at him. He rolled his eyes but did as she demanded.

 

Hermione bit her bottom lip again as she looked down at her clothes. Her jeans. She glanced back up at the Snatcher, still disturbed by at the small sense of comfort she found when he stroked his thumb across her arm. She hurriedly pulled the torn woollen dress from her shoulders, letting it drop to the ground. She began to pull a shirt on when she glanced up and saw him peeking over his shoulder.

“I mean it! I’ll hex you if you don’t get your eyes off me!” Hermione growled, holding her wand ahead of her, pointing directly at the Snatcher. She sent a stunning spell shooting just past his head, close enough that she saw his hair move as it passed.

Hermione felt further energy slipping from her at the casting of the simple stunning spell. She felt flat, depleted, beyond exhausted… but she had no choice. She forced herself to continue moving. She pulled a jumper on painfully over her head, knowing that she had to get away and currently her head was whirring on how to do so without more Snatchers chasing after her. She couldn’t disapparate. There was just no way she’d survive it. She’d end up splinching herself or worse. Besides, she didn’t know if she had the energy to cast the apparition spell. No. She had to do it the Muggle way. She’d have to put one foot in front of the other and struggle on, no matter how badly injured she was.

Head spinning and her body complaining Hermione got to her feet again. She stumbled a little and had to put a hand out to the wall to catch her herself and regain her balance. She had to hurry. If the Snatcher was telling the truth, then she had no idea how much time she had before more Snatchers came after her.

Hermione began to peel off her thick tights, which were shredded to pieces, along with her thighs. She winced and breathed in sharply through her teeth as she practically bathed them in anti-sceptic. As much as she tried not to, whimpers and groans slipped from her lips. She saw from the corner of her eye that Scabior twitched, almost turning to her before he seemed to catch himself. She tried her best to dress her wounds, eventually pulling on a pair of panties and her jeans. After so long, finally having her jeans should make her feel relieved, but it didn’t. Instead they were constricting and rubbed painfully against the newly dressed wounds on her thighs. 

Looking over at the Snatcher, Hermione swayed again as her head and body pounded. He would need to treat his wounds as well. He was standing, leaning his weight on his arm now, holding onto the upturned sofa.

“Come here, please.” Hermione instructed the Snatcher firmly, choosing to ignore her own politeness and pointed at the first-aid kit. “Treat your wounds.” She tried to demand; her nose raised as she tried to regain her usual composure. And for a moment she almost remembered herself, remembered the prefect Hermione. The dealing with reckless Harry and Ron, Hermione. But something was different now and she felt like a ghost of herself.

The Snatcher turned to her, his brow creasing in a slight frown of confusion.  
“Didn’t you hear me? I said come here.” Hermione gestured at him with her wand again, placing his in her bag. He turned and, though she could see how tired he was he also wore his wolfish grin.

“Yes Mistress,” Scabior teased her, making Hermione’s cheeks flush.

“Shut up.” Hermione bit back at him, as the Snatcher neared her, her frown deepening. She moved closer to the wall, as much as she could to be away from him. As he neared, he slowly passed her and she was sure that he took a purposefully wide berth of the bed, to do so. Her heart sped up as his scent and proximity hit her.

“What now Mistress?” Scabior joked again once he was sat on the bed. He looked exhausted, and in pain. Just like her.

“I said shut up.” Hermione growled angrily at him. “Tend to your wounds.” She jabbed her wand in the direction of the first-aid box.

“Why? D’you plan on doing somethin’ wit’ me?” The Snatcher asked her, that shit-eating-grin on his face still. He carefully began to peel his coat and waistcoat and shirt off. The shirt was useless now, the material torn in too many places. But Hermione’s attention wasn’t on his discarded clothing, it was caught on his topless form. His toned, tanned and scarred body was now marred more than ever. It was hard to see through the blood that heavily caked his skin, but she could clearly work out the discolouration of bruises still forming. She gulped as her eyes roamed the injuries on his body. However, his suggestion made her cheeks heat up, and her irritation rise.

“Just do it? Please?” Hermione asked in annoyed and exhausted exasperation. She leant her head back against the wall, fatigued and pained as she watched Scabior begin to tend to the worst of his numerous wounds, and he looked to be feeling the same.

“Y’did a good job on these wounds.” Scabior acknowledged, whilst wiping them over. He looked up to catch her gaze and Hermione had to swallow again.  
“They’re just basic healing charms.” She replied, trying to sound off-hand as she looked away.

The Snatcher didn’t say anything else for a while, so Hermione let herself stare at one of the walls, just watching him out of her peripheral in case he tried anything. After a few minutes he let out a loud groan, which caught her attention. He was trying to reach round to tend to the wounds on his back, as she had done.  
  
“Give me that.” Hermione instructed, taking the gauze and anti-septic from the Snatcher, impatience evident in her curt voice. She didn’t know how much longer they had before more Snatchers would storm the place in search of Greyback and their other missing brethren.

Hermione was relieved when the Snatcher didn’t say anything further, just let her sit on the bed beside him, his back to her. She looked up at him, his face turned away from her, head hanging, and body slumped. Her hand reached up to brush his long and messy hair from his back. The hair stuck in places, even more red in it from the usual stripe, soaked with blood.  She carefully reached up, trying to peel the fly-away pieces from his wounds. She tenderly began to wipe at the torn flesh on his back, luckily nowhere near as bad as the gouges she had begun to heal on his chest. He tensed beneath her touch as she held onto his shoulder with one hand. She knew she shouldn’t care. Should be cleaning the wounds with the impatient fury that bubbled within. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Merlin help her, Hermione couldn’t bring herself to hurt him, and that’s what she’d be doing. So, her small and dainty fingers brushed gently at the hair that tried to cling to the blood. She moved as softly and as gently as she could but kept a firm grip on his shoulder.

It took a while but eventually the worst of Scabior’s wounds were cleaned and dressed. His back, chest and arms were still coated in dried blood but neither of them had the time to spare on getting cleaned up. Merlin knew she had to look almost as bad as him. Hermione stood up, wishing she didn’t feel the reluctance she did when she let go of his shoulder and stepped away. Godric’s ghost, what had he done to her?

_He’s corrupted you._

That thought about corruption hit Hermione again and she tried to straighten herself. Tried to recall that confident authority that she’d always carried herself with. Tried to remember who she really was… before she let herself fall.

“Get dressed. Quickly.” Hermione told the Snatcher as firmly as she could manage. He turned to look at her then, both hands on the bed either side of him as he held himself up.

“An’ why would I wanna do that?” The Snatcher asked, eyes searching hers, piercing her. He could read her too well and Hermione hated it. “You’ve got yer wand an’ that. Why aren’t you gettin’ out of ‘ere while you can?” His eyes were boring into hers, trying to find an answer to his question and too suddenly she felt vulnerable, even with her wand inside her hand.

“You’re coming with me.” Hermione replied quietly, pulling her gaze from the Snatcher’s. She heard him make a scoffing, _tsk_ noise, before she rolled her eyes, frustrated with him but also herself. She immediately regretted doing so as she swayed in her seat.

“Oh, am I?” Scabior asked, his voice low and rough.

 

 

 

A/N: . Could be so bold as to ask you to review, I do find it encouraging and tends to spur me on. Knowing that someone is still reading it means that I have more of a drive to continue. Peace and Love all!

 

 

 


End file.
